


A Child of War

by sp1lt_1nk



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Deaf Character, Death in Childbirth, Destiny, Drink to Forget, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy Racism, Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Overworking, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Battle, Pregnancy, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sexual Content, Sick Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp1lt_1nk/pseuds/sp1lt_1nk
Summary: after an intense battle, Geralt drags a barely conscious Jaskier to a small town in the outskirts. the visit to the healer does not go as expected and Geralt gets a freshly patched up Jaskier in return for an unusual favour. (tags have spoilers)
Relationships: Dara & Original Female Character, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 54
Kudos: 593





	1. The Smallest of Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! thank you so much for choosing to read this story. I will be frequently updating this for the next few months as I bury myself deeper into the Witcher games and books. most of these characters belong to Andrzej Sapkowski or the Netflix TV series. however, some characters are purely my own :)
> 
> **please follow or bookmark this story to get updates when I publish new chapters (about once or twice a week if I'm lucky!)**

Jaskier was little more than dead weight on Geralt’s chest. The bard had fallen into a fitful sleep on the ride to the nearest town not engulfed in flames or more dead than alive. The wound to his chest was bandaged and most of the bleeding had stopped, only an ooze of blood compared to the steady gush it had been at first. 

The watered-down swallow potion is what had saved him, but the toxicity in the human’s body would be too overwhelming to try again; He needed a proper healer. 

Roach’s sides were heaving as she galloped down the cobblestone streets, Geralt urging her on faster as Jaskier moaned in pain, waking up from his sleep. Geralt’s blood slicked hands pressed the bard closer to his chest as he squirmed in discomfort. 

“Healer,” he yelled to the shocked townspeople. “Where’s the fucking healer?”

“By the old well!” someone yelled back.

Roach’s hoves pelted the stone road as she dashed to the well in the center of town. Geralt dismounted hurriedly before helping Jaskier off the horse. The apothecary was a modest building, cobbled together with different wood and stone. Smoke rose from the chimney and many people were already crowded around it. 

“Out of my way,” Geralt commanded, voice dark and dangerous as he pushed his way to the door. “Move.”

Most of the townspeople at the apothecary were ill, not gravely wounded. Only a few men who looked as if they had seen battle were standing by the door, not bloodied enough to have fought long before fleeing. Geralt grunted as one of the said men pushed back, making Jaskier gasp in Geralt’s arms; his eyes looked panicked as a bit of blood bubbled up from his throat. 

“Get lost witcher, the healer is already swarmed with people who actually need help,” the man spat. 

Geralt held firmly onto Jaskier with one arm while he used the other to punch the man in the face. A satisfying crack was heard as the man’s nose broke, sening blood gushing from the broken vessels within.

“Fuck! Fuck you witcher- fuck!” the man cursed, hands cupped under his nose to hold the blood. “broke my fuckin’ nose, he did! Wait for your fuckin’ turn you demon scum!” he yelled as Geralt pushed towards the door. 

Just as he was about to open the rickety door, it flung open. A woman with drastically unkept hair stared at him, brows furrowed. Her gaze then drifted to the crosseyed bard in his gasp, struggling to breathe.

“Bring him in,” she said over his shoulder as she returned to her work tending to other patients. “no doubt your from the battle a few hours north of here.”

“Yes,” was Geralt’s cold reply. 

The woman’s apothecary was over-run with the ill and the wounded. 

“If I’ve seen to you, go back to your homes. I need a bed!” she said loudly over the sniffling and morning. A few men and women gathered themselves in thin blankets or shawls and made their way out of the building, only leaving the dying and the already deceased. 

The woman, Geralt now saw she was heavily pregnant, made her way over to an unoccupied bed.

“Put him here.”

Geralt gently lay Jaskier down on the only actual bed in the whole building as the healer readied herbs and bandages. She made quick work of Geralt’s speedy patch job, peeping away the cloth to reveal the nasty cut on Jaskier’s abdomen. She pressed some ground herbs into the wound, before wrapping it again in clean bandages. 

“Make him drink this when he wakes up,” she said, handing Geralt a chipped mug filled with a bitter smelling tea. “Celadine and white myrtle,” she continued. “It should help with the pain and ease the healing process.”

As Geralt watched over Jaskier, the pregnant woman worked her way through the dozen or so people who streamed into her apothecary. 

“Hurry up would you, _woman_.”

Geralt turned his head as the ungrateful son of a bitch, whos nose he’d broken, griped.

He got up from Jaskier’s side, the bard had already taken his tea and the white honey potion Geralt had given him. 

“Its fine, witcher. She can handle herself. Can't you Delia.” he sneered, groaning as she forcefully set his nose back in place. 

“Shut it, Alfred. He actually fought in the battle unlike you and your cowardly-” 

She got no further as the man slapped her, face contorted in anger. 

“You _dare_ speak to me like that, you ungrateful wench!”

Geralt gave him no more time to talk before kicking the man in the nether’s and dragging him through the door. 

he was bloody when he returned. Not his own of course, but the man had bled a decent amount when his nose was snapped back out of place. 

Delia was gripping her work table with white knuckles when he returned, letting out a long breath as she stood back to her full height. 

“Did he hurt you?” Geralt growled, residual anger in his voice from the man’s actions. 

“He slapped me,” she simply replied with a shrug. a red welt was blooming on her face where the man’s hand had connected. 

Geralt disposed of the dead villagers that had passed from either injury or illness, the bodies piled by the well. 

Delia was tending to Jaskier, one hand braced against her back as she checked for signs of a fever or infection. 

“Your friend will be alright in a few hours. Not a serious wound. He’ll be groggy from blood loss, but no extensive damage.” she explained, rubbing at the swell of her stomach, brows pinched together. 

Geralt stayed out of her way as she tended to new and old patients. Never taking a break, even as the moon passed high in the sky. A wave of injured soldiers had overwhelmed her, giving her no rest and Geralt no time of fuss as he hauled bodied intermittently over the span of the night. 

It was in the early hours of the morning that pained noise woke him. He first looked to Jaskier, but the bard was once again asleep, features lax and free of pain. 

Most of the patients in the apothecary were asleep or unconscious. The room smelled of blood and death, but the fresh tang of copper was thick on Geralt’s tongue. 

A low moan made him turn to the bed Delia had taken for herself, ensuring Jaskier he was fine to take the bed when he had tried to offer it many times to the pregnant woman.

The human was curled on the bed, one arm cradling her swollen belly and the other was gripped tightly between her teeth, trying to dampen the pained sounds she was making. 

He woke Jaskier, shaking the bard until his eyes opened. 

“Geralt-” 

The bard’s already confused look turned to complete bewilderment when the door to the apothecary slammed open. The mam from the night before marched straight towards them with a handful of other men at his side.

“Witcher.” he snarked, voice nasally from the twice-broken nose. 

Geralt sneered, reaching for his swords- only to find them not on his back.

“Alfred what- AH!!” Delia cried as the man lunged at her, grabbing her arm as holding a knife to her while a few others tried to get close to Geralt. 

“Should’ve killed you as soon as I knew you were fooling around with that _elf_ ” Alfred spat, the knife travelling from her throat to the woman’s heavily pregnant midsection. She thrashed in his grasp as he started to carve a shallow gash in her stomach. 

A furious growl erupted from Geralt as she threw off the men that had attacked him as she fought his way toward Delia. But against all odds, Jaskier got to her first, tackling Alfred to the ground as Delia’s freed hands flew to her stomach. 

Blood was soaking her dress as her face grew pale. 

Geralt felt no need to hold back from stabbing Alfred’s men in the chest, making sure they never got up again. 

Delia was sobbing, her hands pressed to her stomach, the muscle clenching under her hands as yet another contraction ripped its way through her body. 

Jaskier helped her to her feet as Geralt lugged the bodes with the others. 

“Shh, it’s alight.” Geralt heard Jaskier whispering to the pained woman, trying to get her to breathe normally. “Geralt his very good at dressing wounds.”

“She’s coming,” the woman gasped, head flying back in an attempt to deal with the pain.

“What? Who?” 

“The baby, Jaskier,” Geralt growled. He washed the blood from his hands before approaching the healer. 

“Oh gods,” whispered Jaskier. He took Delia’s hand in his when another contraction made her grit her teeth. 

“Soon,” she mumbled, eyes fighting to stay open, but slipping shut despite her best efforts. 

“Shit,” Geralt swore, tearing at the woman’s dress to reveal a blood-soaked underskirt. “Shit!” he swore again. 

“She’s bleeding too much,” Jaskier commented, The baby’s head hadn’t moved down, and when he felt around the healer’s stomach he was able to feel that it had dropped considerably but hadn’t entered the birth canal.

“She’s torn or the afterbirth had detached, or so many other complications... I can't tell.”

Geralt just looked at him in a vague astonishment.

“The eldest of many siblings,” Jaskier explained before listing the objects he needed Geralt to find. 

The witcher only stilled when Jaskier mentioned a sharp knife. “Why?”

“If we can't get the babe out, then they will both die if it comes to that.”

“It won’t come to that.” Geralt growled. 

The apothecary was empty, everyone else had fled when the men had attacked.

Geralt watched in morbid fascination as Delia’s stomach clenched; the woman let out a soft grunt in her sleep. 

“She needs to be awake,” Jaskier said, after wiping his bloody fingers on the soaked bedsheets. 

Geralt pulled a bottle of white gull from his bag, uncorked and held it under Delia’s nose. The woman woke with a start, hand frantically grasping her bloodied stomach. 

“Shh, you’re going be alight,” Jaskier soothed, once again pushing Geralt aside. The bard brushed the hair away from the woman’s forehead.

“Your baby is on the way, but we need to get things moving, rather quickly it appears.”

Jaskier instructed Geralt to help Delia walk around the small apothecary while Jaskier got everything ready for the birth. 

Delia needed to pause every few minutes, her hand holding onto Geralt in a death grip as a contraction overtook her. 

“It… oh gods it hurts,” she keened, one arm hooked around Geralt’s stooped neck and the other cradling her stomach as the baby dropped impossibly lower. 

Geralt only glared at Jaskier. The bard was much better suited to people-related issues than he was. 

“Yes, but your stronger than I am and if she falls you can catch her.” Jaskier had said as Delia lay on her bed, her entire body clenching then relaxing with faster and longer contractions. 

“Nearly there,” Jaskier encouraged her as she moaned as an even stronger contraction gripped her. They were approaching the two-hour mark, still deep in the active labour phase. 

Geralt was relieved to be able to retrieve the water from the well. Jakier was going draw her a bath, hoping that it would ease the pain and speed up the birthing process.

Delia and Jaskier were in some sort of slow, swaying dance when the witcher returned. A drop of blood would occasionally fall to the floor as they waltzed, stilling momentarily while Delia worked through another contraction. 

Geralt had never witnessed a birth before in all his years on the continent. Jasper for once had the upper hand and was doing a good job with his limited knowledge. 

Jaskier was humming in Delia’s ear as the swayed, his hands rubbing her back as she groaned. Her forehead was pressed tightly to Jaskier’s shoulder, sweat beeing with exertion. 

“I need-” her words were interrupted as she bore down, a tight hum in the back of her throat transitioned to a breathless cry of agony. 

“Push or sit?”

“Both!”

The bathwater was unnecessary as Delia was helped to the bed, her dress had been long removed, too bloody and destroyed to be much help. 

Geralt physically supported the woman while dandelion did all the instructing and emotional reassurance. 

She had been pushing for hours, trying to get the baby to crown, but it refused. 

“She’s stuck!” she cried after failing once again to push out the baby. 

“Keep trying. I’m sure-” the bard tried to reason but Delia knew better.

“No, you need to get her out!” she insisted. She blindly reached for the dagger Jaskier had requested. 

“You’ll die,” Geralt growled, eyes stormy as he easily took the dagger out of the weak woman’s hands. 

“But she will live. Please,” she begged. 

He looked at Jaskier, who looked crestfallen but nodded in agreement.

Geralt tried to ignore the woman’s screams as he dug the knife into her skin. the gash Alfred made was a reference as he carefully tore open her abdomen. He pushed aside some of her vital organs to get to the baby, he used the lightest amount of pressure to cut open her uterus, the baby’s head was right there under his large murderous hands. As gently as he could, Geralt pulled the baby from their mother, only attached by the umbilical cord and stings of mucus and fluid. 

"No wonder she wouldn't come out," Jaskier murmured. Breech babies were notoriously hard to birth.

Geralt gently brought the baby to Delia’s chest. He made sure she had the child in her arms before frantically trying to stop the bleeding that he knew would cause her death. 

“My beautiful lovely girl, my beautiful Elaine” she whispered, weakly craning her neck to press a kiss to the baby’s bloody forehead. The child was squirming and crying, not at all pleased to be out in the world. 

“Take her,” she whispered to Geralt. 

he looked up from the useless job he was doing to stopping the bleeding. His hands were covered in blood up to mid forearm. She was barely conscious. “No," he said sternly. "you will live to be a mother. Don't pass her to me.”

“White wolf, we all know that isn’t the case, take her before I drop her.” Delia looked seconds away from death, face whiter than the bedsheets and as frail as bird feathers in the wind.

“No!” The baby cried harder when he raised his voice.

“Geralt… it is her destiny…” 

Delia took a final gasp for breath before her body went limp, the baby still cradled on her chest. 

Geralt stormed out of the house and spent an hour cutting up Alfred's body into tiny pieces. he relished watching the drowners in a nearby lake pick away at his corpse. It was if he were feeding fish. 

When he returned in the morning, Delia’s body as with the rest by the well, flies buzzing in and out of her lifeless face. 

Jaskier had a washed and clothed Elaine, the newborn snuggled tight against his chest she wailed. 

“Geralt! She won’t stop crying. I don't know what to do.” Jaskier pleased as the Witcher scrubbed more blood from his hands in two days than he had in a week. 

The witcher had planned to ignore the child, maybe they could pass her off to another town member. But when he saw the baby’s pointed ears he knew she would never be accepted by the human side of her heritage. 

The baby stilled as Geralt grew closer, her big blue eyes looking at him with such innocence that Geralt didn’t know what to do. 

“Shes… she’s so small.” he wondered. Back in Kaer Morhen, he’d never met a child any younger then he had been when he was dropped off at the doors. now he was much larger than the young boy he had been. The baby was as light as a feather compared to even his swords. 

“They typically are,” Jaskier laughed, trying to keep the air light after so much death and blood. “Just make sure you support her head and for god’s sake be gentle with her. She’s not even a day old.”

Jaskier expertly nestled Elaine in his arms. The baby was far too small to be held in his arms. if he so much a breathed he would surely squish her. 

“You’re not going to hurt her, lords above Geralt.” Jaskier chuckled at the witcher's wide eyes filled with fear that he had never, in all his years travelling with Geralt, seen on the mutant. He guiding the larger man to sit down at a table in what used to be Delia’s kitchen. 

Elaine was asleep in his arms before he even registered her gentle breaths slowing down. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Geralt asked. His profession left very little room for family and lovers. He was sterile thanks to the mutagens; having children of his own was never an option. 

“Im sure I could look after her while you’re off on your grand adventures. Or you could retire for a year or two.”

Elaine cooed in her sleep, her mouth opening and closing as her nose scrunching up in a yawn. 

Monter hunting was no place for a baby. 

And he did need to lay low for a bit while the heat from the council died away and far away from Yennifer until the child could defend herself. That woman would stop at nothing to get a child. 

“You look… I don't even know how to describe you with a baby, Geralt. I never thought I’d see the day. Well, after I learned you couldn't have any of your own anyway. Gods, you used to sleep around so much was worried that you’d get the whole town knocked up.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt looked up from Elaine’s small features to lock eyes with the bard. 

“Yes?” Jaskier paused his ranting to look back, brow cocked in question.

“Do shut up.” He then pressed a kiss to the bard’s lips, furthering the human's shocked expression. 

“She’ll need a father, and not just me. Lord now how messed up a half-elven child would be with me as her only guardian.”

Jaskier laughed again against Geralt’s lips. “Are you asking me to marry you, witcher?”

“No. more… stay with me? With us?” he said looking back down at Elaine.

“Always, my friend of humanity.”


	2. Returning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone asked for another chapter, so I quickly wrote this up! I hope it satisfies those hurt/comfort fans, as there's a bit of both

Geralt heard his little girl giggle as he limped up the stairs. He smiled, letting out a chuckle despite his injuries. He used the hand not pressed to his chest to nock on the worn door. Jaskier had sent him a letter, and plastered it on nay notice boards he could, that he would be performing in the tavern a few blocks away. 

The giggling stopped with a gasp and the badding of bare feet approached the door.

Geralt could hear the hesitation in the bard’s steps as he got closer to the door. “Who is it?” he called softly, voice hopeful. 

“A monster.” he pictured the stern look Jaskier, who only enjoyed it when he was the one to put down the witcher.

The look Geralt had been imagining was almost spot-on; he kept forgetting about the small scar on Jaskier’s cheek, a well-aimed butter knife had grazed him after a particularly controversial tune. Geralt’s expertly aimed punch returned the favour. 

“Fucking finally, I thought you’d buggered off on another contract, forgetting about your sweet paramour and abandoning your child,” Jaskier griped, opening the door fully to let Geralt in, huffing in exasperation at the blood on his clothes and clotted in his hair. 

“You need a bath before you get in this bed,” the bard tossed over his shoulder, turning his back to Geralt as he scooped up Elaine, the little half-elven girl squirmed, reaching her hands out to Geralt. “And you might as well join him, you’re almost as squalid.” he teased the child, wiping something off her nose. Geralt wasn’t sure, as the girl looked like she had been soaking up every drop of sun that grazed her skin. The dirt would blend in with her freckles and dark skin. Not only was she an outcast by her ears and heritage, but also her skin. She fit perfectly with Geralt, one of the most famous outcasts of the continent. 

Jaskier carried the six-month-old to the corner of the room where a half barrel was filled with steaming water.

Gealt grunted as he peeled off his gear now sticky with dried sweat, downed dead blood, and his own after running into a few nightwraithes on a shortcut through some fields. The nape of his neck throbbed where a drowned dead had managed to bite him, the poison in their saliva causing an uneasy feeling that would pass soon enough. 

“That looks rather foul,” Jaskier muttered as Geralt sank into the hot water, a groan of relief only just held back by his teeth. 

“you’re rather foul,” Geralt growled, slapping Jaskier’s hand away when the human prodded at the teeth marks. 

He could feel Jaskier rolling his eyes behind him before he was distracted by Elaine, the little girl was propped on his chest while Jaskier scrubbed all the blood off his back and out of his hair. The baby had been content with trying to catch the rippling water but found it more fun to try and squirm away from Geralt. 

“No you don't.” he scooped up his baby with one arm, pressing his lips to the junction of her shoulder and neck and blowing what Jaskier called a “raspberry”.

The peel of laughter that erupted from the girl made Geralt crack a smile. He did it again, making the most humiliating sound, but creating the most beautiful in return. 

She truly was dirty, Geralt noticed when the taste of dirt and dust lingered on his lips. 

“What did you do? Let her roll in the dust like Roach?” he asked, shooting Jaskier a stern look. 

“I swear she just attracts the stuff, no stopping it,” Jaskier shrugged, whispering an apology to the witcher when a particularly deep cut started to bleed again. 

Geral busied himself with sudsing up the child’s hair, the thick curls getting caught in his fingers. 

He growled in frustration as a particularly stubborn snarl made Elaine whimper as he accidentally tugged her hair. 

He was sluggish from the poison and tired, long passed his wit’s end, after the long few days of contracts and travel. 

“Fuck,” he spat, giving up on washing Elaine’s hair as once again he pulled too hard and made the child cry. “Fuck Jaskier how-”

The weariness he’d pushed aside for the past six days finally caught up to him, lowering his impossibly high walls. Deep down all he wanted to do was curl up with his child in his arms and his bard by his side and sleep for a century. 

“Oh, dear.” jaskier’s calloused hands stroked white hair away from his forehead. “Darling, why don't I get Elaine ready for bed and then I’ll patch you up?”

Geralt only grunted, pressing a kiss to Elaine’s soapy scalp in a wordless apology as the baby cried, cranky as it was way past her bedtime. 

Jaskier quickly finished Geralt’s useless attempt at washing the girl’s hair, agile fingers making easy work at what Geralt’s thick ones could only dream of. The bard then scrubbed down the little creature again for good measure. Geralt found himself almost pleased at how grimy she really was, just like him when he had swum in the river by Kaer Morhen when he was younger, dirty from the dry and dusty grounds of the practice pit. 

Her crying stopped as soon as Jaskier pulled her from the water, her eyes wide as she was torn away from her usually absent father figure. Sometimes Geralt was sure that one day she would forget him, as he had once forgotten so many of his good acquaintances. 

She cried now for a different reason, big fat tears trailing down her chestnut cheeks. Geralt for some reason or another had become the favourite of the two parental figures, ironically. Not only did he disappear form her life for days to weeks at a time, but he also had terrible people skills. The bond was mostly one-sided until the baby wouldn't settle for anything other than Geralt. He’d stayed up all night, terrified that if he stopped her wails would attract monsters from the shadows. Protecting just dandelion would have been unpleasant, but manageable. Adding a vulnerable baby to the group only escalated his need to protect his found family. 

That’s when Jaskier suggested that take elain with him as he busked town by town. It was the safer option, and although Geralt hated not having her at arms reach where he could protect her, he realized that the majority of humans wouldn’t kill a female baby that bore a striking resemblance to an infant of their own kind. 

Geralt slowly scrubbed the dried blood off his chest, hissing as the rag grazed the edges of wounds he hadn’t yet seen. 

A swallow potion would do the trick but he was low on supplies and had a day or two to burn while spending the fleeting time he had between contracts with his adoptive daughter. He could heal on his own.

The poison was fully setting in and Geralt itched to toss back a golden oriole, but all he had in his bag was a superior potion and that would be more useful in a fight than for comfort.

His sharp sense of smell picked up on the ooze of the cadaverine as his mutations forced a bit of it out of his system, the poison stinging his raw skin. He sank up to his chin in the water, letting his eyes fall closed as the heat enveloped him.

He had fallen into a light doze by the time Jaskier had managed to calm down Elaine, the baby safely snuggled in a picknick basket Jaskier used as a carrier for the child when it was particularly unsafe for her. 

The bard finished cleaning the mats and gore from his hair then moved to the rest of his body. Sometimes he would press a soft kiss to a bruise that would disappear in a matter of hours, or faintly trance a scar with a feather-light touch. 

It was too fucking domestic for Geralt to stand awake, but in his very light sleep, he found it grounding. 

Finally, the aftercare was over and Jaskier roused him enough to drag the witcher out of the rank bath, drying him off with a scratchy towel. No stitches were needed, but some of the worse cuts were wrapped with bandages and a salve applied to the angry red skin around not one bite, but four. Geralt had been forcing himself to ignore the pain and hasn’t realized another two were on his upper arm and yet another on his side.

Is a strangled groan, the witcher fell onto the bed. He was exhausted from riding for a day straight to get to the town where Jaskier was with his little girl before the bard moved on to a new town. 

“You missed my performance,” Jaskier mumbled, pressing soft kisses down Geralt’s scarred back, following the arch of his spine. 

“only c’m for Elaine,” the witcher mumbled, pressing his face further into the sheets. 

“Oh, I see how it is!” Jaskier shot up, ignoring Geralt’s grunt of pain. “You only care that I can babysit your child until you show up.” the bard was jesting. still, it struck a chord within Geralt. 

“N-ugh” he groaned when Jaskier flopped back down and it jostled his ribs, already groaning under the weight put on them in the position he was laying in. 

“I'll take that as a, _oh, no my darling, beloved Jaskier. I truly adore you over all the coin I horde for myself like a greedy selfless dragon._ ”

Geralt wordlessly went to pick up his coin bag, only to bolt upright when it wasn’t attacked at his hip. 

“Relax, its attached to your pants, not your breeches,” Jaskier reassured him, gently pushing him back down on the bed. A soft hiss left him at the burning of Geralt’s skin under his fingers. 

“Oh my, Geralt you’re positively pyretic!”

“English, Jaskier” Geralt slurred, both by sleep and poison.

“You’ve got a fever.” came jaskier’s exasperated reply, the human getting up form the bed to get a cool cloth. 

“ s’only the poison.”

The damp rag hit the floor with a wet smack sound. 

“Poison? What fucking poison?!” slender hands were searching and prodding him all over.

“The bites… not s’bad.”

“Poison is poison Geralt.” Jaskier groaned at the witcher’s stupidity. “Are you just going to sleep it off?”

Geralt grunted, reaching a hand out to the basket where Elaine was asleep, her hand instinctively curled around his pinky.

“Don't grunt at me, use your words like a grown man.”

Geralt rolled over and pointedly looked at Jaskier. “But Im not a man, am I?”

“Ugh! Why do I put up with you?” Jaskier groaned, slipping under the covers beside Geralt. 

A minute or six went by until Geralt couldn't stand it. “Can she come in the bed?” he winced when his voice sounded beaten down and pining. 

“Oh, Geralt, of course she can,” Jaskier whispered, not missing the way the words fell from the usually well-guarded witcher. 

Gealt was too spent to pull himself out of the bed, although he did try. Jaskier pushed him back down then the bite on the nape of his neck started to ooze again at the effort. 

“I'll get her, but put a bandage on that. I don't want her to get near that stuff.”

With arms like lead, Geralt redressed the bites from the drowned dead, making sure to layer the bandages extra thick, so no position or blood could ooze out. 

Once Elaine was snug in his arms and Jaskier was curled up against him, the bard’s chest to the witchers broad back, Geralt felt at peace. 

Geralt dreamed of Yennifer, the beautiful and mysterious mage. He was brought back to a scene from long ago when Jaskier had his unfortunate encounter with a djin. The mage could control bodies. in theory, she could have any baby she wanted, but the woman craved her own blood, her own chaos passed down. 

Geralt had never felt similarly until, in his dream, Yennifer had Elaine, the child he cared so deeply about, swaddled in her arms and feeding on her breast. 

A deep cavernous pit opened in his stomach, the feeling seconded only by the witcher trials. Never had Geralt felt such hopelessness. Yet part of him wondered if the baby would have been better with the sorceress, a true mother. She wouldn’t have wasted away for a week while Jaskier and Geralt frantically tried to find a replacement for a mother’s milk. 

Logically he knew Yen wouldn’t be able to cope with the unpredictability of a child, so used to being able to control others and play them like a weighted set of dice. Needless to say, seeing the child- _his child_ \- in the arms of someone other than himself, her birth mother, or Jaskier made Geralt’s blood boil. 

Yennifer fought tooth and nail to keep the elvan baby, throwing every curse and spell she knew at the witcher when he took his child back. 

He awoke to a soft giggle and sharp pain as Elaine tugged on loose strands of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail. Her bright smile made all the dark monster’s shy away from the light, including Geralt’s own he kept buried far down in the crypt of his soul.


	3. a Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's way longer than the other two chapters, sorry if you're not into that. this is mainly focused on Elaine this time!

Roach sensed it first, tossing her head back and prancing anxiously moments before his medallion shivered. 

Elaine was snug against his chest, tucked underneath his leather jacket. She’d fussed in jaskier’s arms until Geralt offered to take her, using one arm to support the elven child and the other to control roach.

Roach whinnied, her breath billowing in the frigid air as she lost focus. 

His medallion gave a shuddering lurch off his chest, its eyes gleaming red. 

_Monster_

He whispered a hushed command for Jaskier to stay put as he slid off roach. 

“But-”

The bard never finished as a large almost man but mostly bat creature landed on the ground beside the witcher. A Fleder, a lesser vampire. 

Easy witcher’s work. 

The bundle inside his jacket cried, making Geralt’s blood run cold, his heart racing at the realization that his daughter was meer feet away from danger. 

His sword was by his side in an instant. A few well-aimed swings would bring down the beast, maybe an _igni_ sign at the correct moment.

Geralt steeled his face, clutching his silver sword firmly in one hand the other protectively wrapped around the unsettled child. He sized up the creature as it barreled toward him. 

It was an easy fight until the Fleder let out a deafening sound. The sonic wave released from its maw made Geralt drop his sword, using his entire body to shield Elaine. 

He grabbed the steel dagger he kept on his hip and drove it into the beast’s eye, the organ poping under the pressure and exploding all over Geralt’s face. It crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Ignoring the bite he’d sustained and the blood on his face, Geralt hastily ripped open his jacket to check on Elaine. In the back of his mind he registered Jaskier slipping off roach and running towards him. 

The child looked fine. she blinked up at the two men, Jaskier quickly pulling her out from Geralt’s jacket and inspecting her for any injuries. 

Elaine was a naturally curious child, always looking around and getting into all sorts of trouble. Yet, Geralt had never seen her like this. Her eyes were bouncing around, trying to look at everything. Her arms flailed by her head, her sharp baby fingernails scratching at her ears while a cry bubbled in her throat. 

“This isn’t right,” Geralt muttered, taking back Elaine once Jaskier assured him there were no injuries. Elain was crying so Geralt held her to his chest and shushed her softly. 

Usually, his deep voice soothed her, yet it wasn’t working. The child only seemed to cry harder, her head shaking from side to side. 

She was inconsolable.

On bad nights, Geralt would trot around on roach. the bouncing sooting the baby and allowed roach to stretch her legs. But as Jaskier and Geralt climbed back onto roach to continue the short journey the next town, Elaine was only getting worse her cries turned to screams.

They tried everything, from Jaskier singing to Geralt laying with Elaine’s head pressed of his heart. The slow beat of his heart had no effect as Elaine cried herself to sleep, snot and tears smeared on Geralt’s shirt. 

“What were you thinking! She’s a baby!” Jaskier whispered harshly as Geralt gently wiped the tears and mucus off of Elaine’s face. 

“It was instinct. if I waited she could be dead,” the witcher growled back, volume soft but his words still harsh. 

Jaskier was glaring daggers at him from his seat on the bed. “I cannot _believe_ you took her into a fight. What if it had hit you in the chest?!”

Geralt closed his eyes as he felt his slow heartbeat pulse through his body, the bite on his shoulder still sluggishly bleeding even hours after the attack. “I would have given her to you if I had the time.”

“You say it like that as if there weren’t enough hours in the day, you could have handed her to me. Geralt, she didn’t willingly follow you on your adventure, she had no choice but to be in harm’s way.” _’not like I do,’_ was left unsaid

“I don't want her in harm’s way.” Geralt huffed, pissed that the bard assumed he was okay with what happened. “If I handed her to you, it might have gone after her, or you. Easy targets. An easy meal.”

“I could have protected her.” Jaskier protested, crawling beside Geralt on the small bed. 

Geralt only snorted, sifting Elaine higher up on his chest and away from the ever-growing bloodstain on his shirt. 

“What? I- don't mock me Geralt, I'm- I bloody well stabbed you that one time.”

“Yes, by accident.” Geralt chuckled at the memory. “And you apologized more times than you breathed.”

“It was poisoned,” Jaskier deflected. 

“You fell on me while holing an assassin’s knife. I’d hardly call that protecting.”

Jaskier thankfully remained silent after that.

The next morning Geralt awoke as if he had a hangover from the gods, head-spinning and nauseated. The Witcher cursed as he stood, using the small bedside chest to stabilize himself as he looked around. Jaskier and Elaine were nowhere to be seen. Panic gripped his heart as he threw on his clothes and stumbled downstairs to the tavern below the inn. 

Jaskier and Elaine were at a small table facing away from him. He quickly ordered a small breakfast meal for himself before calling out to Elaine. The little girl, however, didn’t look his way. Instead, her eyes were locked on Jaskier. 

Geralt tried again, this time closer. 

Still nothing. 

The child had impeccable hearing. Even with her hair and a tiny hat strategically pulled over her ears, she could hear things even Jaskier could not. It was strange for her not to hear his voice.

As soon as Jaskier turned to look at him, the little girl’s eyes travelled to Geralt and she smiled, her baby teeth on full display. 

“Look who’s finally awake. It’s not like you to sleep in, papa bear.”

“Don't call me that,” Geralt growled. If he was human his cheeks might be blushed but alas, he was a witcher. 

“Olf,” Elaine babbled, her arms reaching out to Geralt. The witcher took a quick glance around the bare tavern. Only the innkeeper an a few scraggly guests were present so he scooped up the elven child. a spark of delight glowed in his chest at the bubbly giggle she made when she was lifted in the air. 

Olf was the nickname she had given him, finding it much too hard to try and say Geralt. Instead, she picked up wolf, her slowly developing speech turned it into olf.

She giggled again as he pressed a kiss to her chubby cheeks, his prickly beard crating her face. 

By now a few eyes had travelled over in their direction, so Geralt passed the baby back to Jaskier. The inkeep came a few minutes later with his food, a plate of potatoes and various herbs in a gravy of some sort as well as a few sausages on the side made for a hearty breakfast. 

The food helped with the dizziness and the lightheadedness Geralt was experiencing. 

A sudden crash made both of the men’s heads turn, Geralt only slightly, but Jaskier flinched at the sound of crashing ceramic plates.

What Geralt found the most concerning was that Elaine didn’t notice.

The baby was busying herself by playing with the collar of jaskier’s shirt. Geralt slowly lifted his hand and snapped behind her head.

No reaction. 

He tried the other side, snapping twice just in case. 

Still nothing. 

Geralt felt his stomach sink into his boots.

“Geralt? What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked worriedly, his eyes drifting from Geralt’s hand to his yellow eyes. 

“We need to see Yennefer.”

He abandoned the rest of his breakfast as he scooped up Elaine and quickly found roach. Jaskier was a few steps behind them with his lute strung over his shoulder. 

Geralt rode like a madman towards the last place he knew Yennefer to be. The sorceress had been practising simple spells for those who requested, earning her fair share of gold for petty curses and rituals for rain or sun. it was boring work, but she had the whole town at her fingertips. 

Geralt only hoped she was still here. 

It took a day and a half for them to reach her, taking breaks only to change and feed Elaine and for Geralt to rebandage his still bleeding wound from the Fleder. 

Jaskier asked persistent questions, only fully understanding when Geralt demonstrated the little girl couldn't hear him singing, or doing much of anything when she couldn’t see him. 

“Can she fix her?” Jaskier asked again as they slowed down, making sure not to trample any townspeople on the road. 

“Im not sure.” 

Geralt was losing strength, the bite still bleeding after the days since the attack, the wound red and enflamed. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the need to help his child pushed him further than any swallow potion could. 

Yennefer answered after a few nocks, Geralt almost sank to his knees in relief, or perhaps blood loss.

“Geralt of Rivia? It has been many decades since I last saw your face.” the sorceress’s sharp gave fell upon Jaskier and the bundle he carried. “What have you brought me? A present I hope.”

“No, my child.” the protectiveness the white wolf had for the child was unquestionable. Yennefer had no choice but to recognize the child as Geralt’s and not an offering.

Yennefer was rarely shocked, let alone showed the expression on her face. But there it was, plain as day. 

“I thought-” 

“Long story, no time. Urgent magical medicine help needed.” Jaskier barged in, pushing past Yennefer and Geralt. 

“We will speak later,” Yennefer muttered coldly, following Jaskier into her home. 

“Well. what is so _urgent_ that you cannot wait to be invited into my home, bard?” she snapped, purple irises flashing with chaos. 

“A Fleder-” Jaskier looked to Geralt, who only nodded in confirmation. “- a Fleder blasted her, she’s not even a year old yet. Please you have to cure her.”

“A cure?” Yennefer asked sweetly, like a viper preparing to strike. “That’ll cost you copious copper.” the raven-haired sorceress reached her manicured fingers towards the child in jaskier’s arms. She was unhappy, her nose scrunched up as she clutched to jaskier’s shirt. Jaskier took a step back from the ex-mage, his hold on Elaine tightening; the reflex to protect the child in his arms overriding his senses. 

“I'll pay anything if you can reverse the damage.” Geralt interrupted. “She was deafened.”

Yennefer cooed, taking a dominant step towards the baby. “Deafened? You know me so well Geralt, I do love a challenge.”

Geralt only snarled as Yennefer plucked Elaine from jaskier’s arms, his child mewing in protest.

“Oh dear little one, what has the white wolf gotten you into?” 

Despite Geralt’s overwhelming desire to snatch Elaine back out of Yennefer’s arms, the woman only handled the child with the utmost care, never jostling her or putting her in harm’s way. Only when she began to cry after Yennefer made her drink a potion did the sorceress lose her composure.

“Geralt?”

He immediately staggered to his feet, only to fall back down on the chair he had been seated on for the past few hours.

“On second thought, maybe your bard will be better,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she passed the wailing child to Jaskier, who looked shocked to see Geralt in such a state. 

“You self-sacrificing idiot,” Yennefer cursed after forcing Geralt to remove his jacket, the shirt underneath so saturated with blood the sorceress could wring it out and perform a blood ritual.

A simple concoction on herbs and a touch of magic made a solution that neutralized the Fleder anticoagulant in its saliva. After slowing bleeding to death for days, Geralt finally felt his witcher healing kick in properly. He refused to sleep until Elaine was calm again, soundly asleep in jaskier’s trembling arms. The poor bard was beside himself that he hadn’t noticed Geralt’s condition sooner. 

Elaine refused to lay still with Geralt, the witcher’s skin cold and clammy compared to the normal blazing fire that was under his skin. Instead, the half-elf happily slept in Jaskier’s or Yennefer’s arms as the two stayed awake to watch Geralt, who still looked like he was feet from death’s door. 

Reasonably, Yennefer knew Geralt would bounce back from the bloodloss in a few hours. Jaskier knew this as well but it did nothing to ease the churning feeling in his stomach. 

At some point during the night Elaine woke, her dark eyes searching frantically for her fathers only to find Yennefer’s purple eyes staring. She still wore the wool hat Geralt and Jaskier insisted she don constantly, but it now seemed to aggravate the child. The sorceress plucked the hat off of her small head and gently smoothed back the child wild hair. It reminded her of Fringilla’s hair that she had combed back and pinned in place many times in their years at Aretuza. They were no longer friends, barely even acquaintances. 

A startled gasp escaped the sorceress when she saw the child’s ears. The small cartilaginous organs were pointed, far more so than Yennefer’s own. An elven child then. 

Yet, she looked nothing like Geralt, perhaps a little like Dandelion if she squinted. She wouldn’t put it past the bard to sleep with an elf, the bard seemed to sleep with anything that had a cunt and a humanoid appearance. 

fuerther more, Geralt had called her his child. Not by birth, unless the witcher traits weren’t passed down to children. But had been sterile when they’d last coupled. She could never get pregnant herself, but Geralt could also never have gotten her pregnant even if she’d still had her uterus. 

In conclusion, Geralt had either put up with Dandelion’s daughter and decided to raise her together, Geralt had found a way past his infertility, or he had been roped into taking the child. Geralt despised having weaknesses.

The child yawned and scrunched up her nose, her dark freckles showing beautifully in flickering firelight. Yennefer couldn't help pressing a light kiss to her button nose, relishing in maternal feelings that washed over her. 

The girl’s hearing hadn’t improved sadly; the damage was too extensive to cure with simple spells. Even the more powerful potion had jus made the child’s stomach upset and had her crying for longer than yennefer could tolerate. 

Jaskier was crestfallen when he learned her hearing was gone for good, bouncing the sick baby gently until she spat up on his shoulder. 

One final attempt was made, a potion that would enhance the baby’s other senses, her vision, smell, and even taste would be enhanced. 

They wited until Geralt was awake, Jaskier nervously detangling Elaine’s hair and braiding it as he waited. 

Soon enough yennefer was done waiting and splashed cold water on the witcher’s face.

The roar that erupted from his throat as he bolted awake was one of anger and pain, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger made Jaskier back away. Yennefer only scoffed, deflecting the blade with a simple incantation and a wave fo her hand. 

The crazed look in the witcher’s yellow eyes faded as he took in the sight of a terrified Jaskier holding an owl-eyed baby. His baby. Yennefer stood over him with a condescending smirk. 

“Your bard demanded that we wait until you awoke to make the decision. if it was my way the babe would already be fit as a fiddle. But, you are lucid enough to be part of the decision now.”

Gealt blinked, shedding the disorienting hazy feeling of sleep as the tried to stand. A clawed hand firmly kept him down, the sorceress’s sharp nails causing small welts on his chest.

Jaskier explained the potion, how it would enhance all of Elaine’s senses, but she would be sickly for a week as she learned to comprehend her new abilities. 

A deep note was struck in Geralt’s mind. He had vague memories of the trial of grasses; pain and suffering mixed with debilitating nausea and hallucinations. The metal frame he was strapped to stop him from tearing free as he suffered for days on end. the half-memories half fever dreams from his trials flooded back into his memory, the potions, burning heat and searing pain as his eyes mutated. He remembered being unmade and then pieced back together again, only the traits that were wanted to be taken back. 

The aftermath was equally ash harsh. He could hear the scrape of stones in Kaer Morhen as the wind had blown against the building, its structure shifting only slightly. He had been able to taste the minerals in the river fed by the mountains. He could feel someone shifting in their seat at dinner through the air. His eyes could see light through his eyelids, blinding him even when he wanted to do nothing than succumb to unconsciousness. 

“No.” he growled, grabbing Yennefer’s wrist as tightly as he could. “You will not put her through that.”

“I assure you it will not be like the witcher trials.” yennefer promised, releasing Geralt from under her hand, rubbing her bruised wrist. 

“No.”

“Geralt... She won’t be able to hear for the rest of her life. She won’t…” the poet’s voice broke as he thought about everything his child would never hear. She would never remember the lullabies he sang, Geralt’s dreadfully bland but honest stories of monsters and magic, her laugh that filled Jaskier with so much joy. She’d never hear any of it ever again. 

Jaskier was crying, holding Elaine tightly in his grip as he tried to smile fo her. The poor girl was so confused that she whined softly, her hands patting jaskier’s face as if to say _there, there, its okay_

The action only made more tears slip down Jaskier’s face.

The witcher pushed himself to his feet, blatantly ignoring Yennefer’s attempt to help him. His strong arms wrapped around Jaskier in a firm hug, his own slightly damp face pressed into bard’s hair. 

“We can fix this, I can- there must be a way..” he said softly, trying to keep the wetness out of his vice. He needed to be the backbone of the patchwork family. 

“I told you the way.” yennefer snapped, much too irritated at the sappy displays of affection. Deep down in her heart, she was touched that they hadn’t abandoned the baby, as many would. A disabled, dark-skinned, elven girl. Even just one of those reasons would have a normal family throw away. Yet she was all four and more. 

“Geralt. We need to give her the best shot she has at life,” Jaskier tried to reason, backing away from Geralt to look at him properly. 

“And you think by turning her into something like me she’ll have a better life?”

“I didn’t say better, I said not dead,” the bard snapped. 

“How do you think people will see her if she looks like me and is an elf on top of all that? You know how people are about witchers,” Geralt barked back

The poet looked hurt, his eyes pleading but his beliefs still strong.“I know how I feel about witchers, and I know how she does too.”

“Well it doesn’t matter what _you_ think,” Geralt said, his words saturated with anger and resentment for his past self, the boy he had wished that never went through the pain of the trials. “it’s about what _they_ think.”

“ _I_ don't matter? My opinion about our child doesn’t matter? My opinion about _you_ doesn’t matter? I thought you were better than that Geralt. Since when did a stranger’s opinion change you?”

“Geralt let out a frustrated sigh. “I never said you didn’t matter, Jaskier.”

“Well, it bloody well sounded like you did.”

The dispute made yennefer yawn. The potion was going to go to waste if it wasn’t used quickly.

“Will she be like me?” Geralt asked, eventually breaking the angry silence between the bard and himself. “Will she look like me?”

Yennefer hopped down from her seat on the counter, amusement dancing in her eyes. “As I already told you, white wolf, only her senses will change, nothing more nothing less.”

“Is it worth it? Does she need this?”

“For your lifestyle? Certainly,” Yennefer quipped, gracefully snatching up the potion and pulling the cork off with ease. “She won’t like it and she cannot bring it back up.”

“She won’t.”

“so sure, as always Geralt.”

He was still rather pale and Jaskier was worried he’d drop Elaine if she started to squirm, so the bard insisted he held the baby girl.

The little elf fussed and fidgeted just as Jaskier had thought, tossing her head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge Yennefer’s hold. The potion looked as disgusting as it must have tasted; the child whined, her little hands flailing in an attempt to stop the foul taste. 

Not suck luck was had, however. She cried for hours, unable to sleep for even longer. Eventually, she was so exhausted she couldn’t keep crying. Sleep came a few hours later to the relief of everyone in the house.

she woke up a few times over the next day, usually crying out _olf_ or a botched version of Jaskier. She had a high fever for a few days and then seemed to be on the mend. Her little body was overwhelmed by everything, so Geralt would take her a lake outside of the city. Her fever-bright eyes gazing over the surface of the water. She didn’t look for the birds in the trees, for she could not hear them, but when the winds changed she looked around. Geralt too could taste it in the air, how the breeze picked up the smell of freshwater. 

She couldn't hear the rustle of the wind through the grass, but she enjoyed clumsily running her hands through it. She loved the cold water on her hot skin as Geralt held her afloat in the shallow water. Jaskier watched from the side, absently plucking at his lute and composing a song his little girl would never hear. 

“Hello, sweet child,” yennefer cooed as she lifted Elaine from her makeshift bed. This time, instead of the usual dark brown eyes, soft heather coloured irises blinked back.

Yennefer’s first thoughts were of her bloody demise waiting at the other end of Geralt’s sword. 

“What’s wrong?” came a half-asleep voice from the witcher himself. He stood only in his breeches and a hastily pulled on shirt that did nothing to mask the bite marks and scars on his torso.

“Had fun with Dandelion?” she asked, deflecting the question and concern. 

“Only a few drowned dead and a Fleder.”

“That’s a relief. I still might get my way with you.”

Geralt cracked a smile as he lifted Elaine from the sorceress’s arms. 

Yennefer opened her mouth to explain the change in the child’s eyes, the words dying in her throat as Geralt snapped his head up to lock their gaze. 

“What the fuck did you do?” he growled, lips pulled back in a snarl.

“I didn’t plan this!” she replied, her words hot in her defence. “You think I want her to be like you? No one wants more witchers.”

“Yet here we are.”

“She’s not a witcher, Geralt. have some sanity.”

“She’s doest fucking even look human anymore!”

“Im sorry your “trauma” had blinded you to the fact that I _improved_ her quality of life,” she spat. “Gods forbid that I do something good in your eyes.”

Jaskier poked his head into the room. He at least had the sense to dress himself, unlike a certain witcher… not that Yennefer was complaining about the sight of Geralt half-naked in her home with a baby in his arms. It was almost like she had dreamed, minus the furious look on Geralt’s face.

“What do I owe you for your services?” he asked, venom practically spitting from his mouth. The man had never been good with his anger issues. 

“Come visit every year with Elaine, I’m sure she’d love to see her aunt.”

“You’ve made yourself aunt now? Fuck, why must you always try and take so much until there’s nothing left?”

His words stung slightly, but yennefer was never one to bow to Geralt or anyone for that matter. “Are you saying you only have so much love you can share Geralt? Or do you have any at all, being an emotionless monster that you are.”

Geralt’s expression of anger melted into a stone-cold and emotionless slate. He gave Elaine to Jaskier and left the room, coming back moments later dressed and with the only belongings he’d brought into Yennefer’s home. 

“We’re leaving,” he said under his breath to Jaskier, whistling for roach. 

Over the months Jaskier taught simple hand gestures to Elaine. The sign for her name was to circle her face with an open hand then to close all her fingers together when she got to her chin. Once she learned that the sign meant her name, she would sign it excitedly then point to herself, as if to say _this is me! This is my name!_

Jaskier had made a sign for himself that used his pinky to trace the letter J in the air, a little swooping motion. 

Elain would do the sign for her name and point out herself, then do jaskier’s sign and point to him. 

_I'm Elaine, you are Jaskier._

Geralt’s wasn’t a movement, and more a depiction. He showed Elaine how to make a wolf’s head with her hands. At night he showed her how she could make shadows of a wolf’s head by the light of the fire. It was straightforward and simple; thumb middle and right finger pinched together while her pinky and pointer finger pointed up to make the wolf’s ears.

Even roach was given a sign. Elaine made roach’s herself, proudly showing Geralt and Jaskier one night by the fire. Using her hands, she made ears on top of her head and twitched them like roach’s ears moved when a fly buzzed too close or she heard a sudden sound. 

Other words were picked up like water, tired, happy, why, how, hurt, hungry, sad, where, thank you, no, yes, stop, please, love, and scared.

Geralt made signs for some of the monsters he fought. A kikimore sign had both his thumbs hooked together while his other eight fingers wiggled like a spider. A drowner was an open hand with his fingers spread out, while his pointer finger drew webs between them. 

Most of the time he would point to a head of a monster he was delivering or Jaskier would draw a picture to show her. Most of their stories were illustrated by Jaskier in his notebook. Geralt had tried but it resulted in tactical drawings and positions rather than an image.

Elaine told her own stories sometimes, her hands excitedly forming both signs Jaskier and Geralt knew and ones they had no idea what they meant. Jaskier would clap and smile widely when Elaine was finished, even if he had no idea what she was saying, while Geralt would crack a small smile and ruffle her hair.

Eventually, when Elaine was two she could form small sentences with two or three words. Her most used were signing “I love you” by signing her name, then love, then whoever she was directing the statement too. Her other go-to was to ask Jaskier where Geralt was. she’d sadly sign _where_ then _Geralt_ and tilt her head in question. 

Half of the time Jaskier didn’t know, so he’d sign back _soon_.

Elaine was learning new signs constantly, her favourite signs were for plans or things she’d see in the towns Jaskier and he stayed in while Geralt completed contracts. 

One day Geralt came back from his two-week excursion she had learned ten new signs. She proudly showed them to Geralt as Jaskier explained what they were. Jaskier made most of the signs himself, trying to make visually different signs that were easy to make and understand for Elaine’s sake and both his and Geralt’s.

Geralt stayed true to his payment for yennefer, taking Elaine to visit every yule to see the sorceress who had no idea how to understand the young child. Jaskier usually translated their annual reunion, laughing when he forgot the sentence structure Elaine used was much different from common and had to rephrase the child frantic signs.

After yet another too-long contract, Geralt made his way back to the inn Jaskier was staying at, his boots muddy and soaking in swamp water. He gave the standard knock and answer, gracing Jaskier with a grunt as he trudged through the door. Elaine was uppon him in an instant, her fingers struggling to keep up with her questions.

Geralt answered her questions of where and why as he unbuckled his armour, grimacing at the gunk and swamp debris lodged in the crevices of the leather. 

“Fuck.” he cursed.

A slightly breathy laugh was music to his ears after only hearing the slosh of drowners and his own footfalls after a week. Elaine still made sounds when she signed Jaskier, Geralt, and her name. mostly it was her lips or tongue smacking as she mouthed the basic parts along with the sign.

He was too tired to sign the whole story of the heard of downers just yet, so he was thankful when Jaskier played a song instead. Elaine snuggled up to Jaskier on the bed as she pressed her hands against the lute, feeling the music rather than hearing it. Geralt lazily signed the most crucial words, his fingers falling still as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a cool fact, but Elaine means lovely in Elder Speech (the language elves use in the games as well as the show and books) the sign Elaine uses for her name is the asl sign for lovely. I personally do not use asl nor am I deaf, but my friend who is taking an asl course in uni helped me. if you have any tips for writing sign language or deaf characters, please enlighten me so I can portray Elaine better in my work. finally, thank you so much for your kind comments on the first two chapters. I love responding to comments and kudos are always appreciated


	4. Confrontations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **hi! just a warning there is a graphic description of self-mutilation (it's not self-harm in how we talk about it in society now, but it does involve blood and self-inflicted wounds) if you are triggered by anything related to self-harm though, I wouldn't read past the *** that I have put a few lines before anything gets into that situation. if you would like a recap of what happens after that to understand where she story left off for the next chapter, I will put a condensed and non-graphic synopsis in the endnotes :)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note before this chapter; it is very long, there's a lot of xenophobia and racism, blood and graphic injury depiction, and it's overall not very soft or sweet. I promise I'll update as soon as possible to fix the wrongs I did in this chapter, but please know that I do it out of a pace of love and respect for my character (and Andrzej Sapkowski's characters obviously) and that they would be unable to advance in the story without the hard times they need to go through to get to the realizations they need to make
> 
> edited: Sorry for the code errors! I forgot to close the bracket in one of the lines that made the whole story bold. that should be fixed now and I hope it wasn't too hard to read for those of you that did read it at that point. thank you to the kind people who commented and pointed it out :)

Elaine, although not related by blood to Jaskier or Geralt, grew up to be a mixture of the two. She was incredibly inquisitive and refused to take no as an answer, much like Jaskier, while she also had a knack for herbalism and a sharp mind, more attuned to Geralt’s own skillset. she also was kind and compassionate, something that must have come from her mother, along with her foul language. Jaskier had never taught her any swear signs, but that didn’t stop her from making her own and using them liberally. 

She was fifteen now, almost taller than Jaskier. Her thick hair grew long to cover her pointed ears and she donned leather armour to protect herself in a fight... and the eyes of ogling men. Her eyes were a pale heather colour hidden underneath dark lashes, a stark contrast to the richness of her skin. Her freckles had only grown in abundance as she walked alongside the witcher and the bard, whom she knew as her fathers, on the long and tedious trails from city to city and town to town.

She was a far cry from the helpless child Jaskier and Geralt had taken in years ago, defying all odds of survival as she persisted.

Her vocabulary had increased astoundingly, her sentences were undetailed unless necessary, but she could tell you ten ways to kill a man; this pleased Geralt while it disgusted Jaskier. 

In contrast to when Elaine was young, the group mostly slept outside the cities or towns they visited. Too many times had Elaine been misinterpreted as a degenerate. She communicated flawlessly though sign, but the breathy and chopped sounds she made while making hand gestures lead many ignorant fools to believe she had been kicked in the had as a baby. 

The common place to find fools were taverns and the Banshee's Nest was no different. Given the name by being located next to a whore house, the Banshee's Nest was filled with men desperately trying to avoid their wives and working women desperate for money. 

The witcher sat alone, his head leaned back against the wall as he watched Jaskier perform his final song for the evening. Geralt had persuaded him not to play his most famous of all his ballads. Nothing was more awkward than being in a tavern while drunk bastards insisted on literally tossing him a coin. He took the money, he was no fool, but it became tiresome incredibly fast to hear someone else regurgitate a laced up version of his “heroics.” 

From a distance he watched Elaine, who had gotten herself a front seat to see the bard. Occasionally she would toss a silver or, if she felt the audience had the coins, a orien. Jaskier had given her a handful hoping that seeing Elaine donate to his cap would inspire others to soon follow.

Geralt practiced most of the signs that went along with the lyrics, trying to keep pace with the bard’s lively strumming. Even though thirteenth years of practice were under his belt, Geralt never could keep up with Jaskier’s songs, the words easily slipped through his fingers. Elaine would tease him, swiftly keeping impeccable rhythm as she fluidly signed the songs she knew by heart, her eyes intently watching Jaskier’s lips move as he sang. She’d even managed to learn the accompaniment for the witcher’s song; Jaskier had spent hours teaching her the fingerings and strumming patterns. 

She explained to the bard once that she could feel the different vibrations when she played, using the same technique when she’d learned to humm. She wrapped herself around Jaskier, feeling the change in vibrations as he hummed through scales and octaves. She had a hard time carrying a tune, but she could humm a choppy segments of the Stars Above the Pass and she was working on learning the ballad of the Eternal Fire or Winter, as Jaskier was still deciding on the name. 

Geralt was drawn from his thoughts by cheers and applause from the audience. The bard had finished his set and was boisterously shouting that he’d also accept payment in the form of any alcohol from the tavern choosing.

Many of the men bought him drinks solely because of the ditty about sleeping with any woman that would take him, as they were at the inn and tavern for that exact reason. 

“Although,” Geralt chuckled under his breath, “the men here have to pay their way into a woman’s shirts.”

Elaine fell into a chair beside him, taking a glance at the witcher, she too hardened her expression and tried to sit up taller, imitating Geralt’s posture and demeanour. She failed, but it almost made Geralt crack a smile at her exaggeratedly furrowed brows and stormy eyes.

“Oh god’s now there's two of you,” Jaskier groaned as he too fell bonelessly into a chair across from the witcher and his daughter. Elaine’s imitation of Geralt fell away as she asked Jaskier to repeat himself. 

Jaskier set down his lute and his mug of ale to repeat himself in sign. 

She laughed, the odd noise drawing eyes from other tables. **Geralt one just** , she signed flippantly, rolling her eyes. 

It was Jaskier’s turn to laugh, rocking his fist in the sign for yes and nodding at the same time.

Elaine went on a small rant about how boring the town had been and about how, now that Geralt had finished his latest contract, they could finally move on from the filthy place. She nudged Geralt with her elbow when she made a particularly rude comment about his clothing.

 **tomorrow you clothes buy** , she stated, her eyebrows raised hopefully. **You smell of Roach**. Elaine made a face but broke into laughter at Geralt's distasteful glare.

The witcher was about to retaliate when two equally drunk men approached their table. Immediately Geralt had his hand on one of his daggers underneath the table.

“I’ll pay ya five crown for the abortion,” one man sneered, showing his rotting or missing teeth.

“Nah, I’ll offer ya a better deal... How’s’bout three silver!” the other man squawked, his uncoordinated hand slapping his friend on the back as he laughed. 

Elaine raised her hands to sign but Geralt used one of his hands to push them down again.

“She’s not for sale,” Geralt growled deep in his throat, glaring at the two men from hooded eyes. 

“Ya sure? She look awful dumb to me, can’t even laugh right.”

Ager flared hot in his belly at the men’s words. He signed to elaine under the table. The girl nodded, understanding. Geralt gave a slight tilt of his head, and Elaine jumped to her feet, swiftly freeing herself from the confined space by the table, she lowered her stance and raised her arms. 

Fistfights were bloody and brutal, but Elaine knew how to handle herself

“She wanna fight or-” the man who had approached first got a face full of Elaine’s fist, her other arm staying up to protect her face. The man stumbled away, both hands clutching his jaw where she had come up from below. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, turning to glare at Elaine. 

All the attention was on the tree fighters, the other patrons of the tavern backed away to give them space.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped, too worried to turn away from the fight as if his attention warded off the blows the two men were trying to land. “She's fifteen what-”

“She's old enough to take them herself. Just watch. I'll step in if needed,” Geralt interrupted, his arms crossed on the table as the barkeep tried to intervene. The man saw it was fruitless to break up the fight when Elaine continued to hold her own.  
Her lip was cut from where she’d expended too much flare, her upper hand making her cocky and allowing an opening for the other man to land a hit. 

“Don't let it get to your head, kid.” Geralt muttered under his breath, internally rooting for the elven girl to kick their intoxicated asses.

Elaine shook off the blow and returned will full force to the fight, taking a few hits while dealing twice as many. 

Bets were being taken. coin jingled as spectators watched in anticipation to see who would come out on top. Both Jaskier and Geralt were adding five silver to the pot, their bets on Elaine surprising the man taking the coins. 

Elaine was more proficient with her firsts than any sword Geralt had tossed to her. her agile and lightning-quick reflexes gave her an advantage and only caused drawbacks when a heavy chunk of steel was in her grasp. Furthermore, Jaskier had insisted against sword training, stating she was much too young to be fighting with a sword. 

It was easy to forget that Elaine would outlive them both, being half-elf expanded her lifespan by decades. Geralt himself would outlive most of his human acquaintances, but his profession could wipe him out in the blink of an eye if he wasn't careful. Elaine was so young for an elf, yet she was old for a human child, a woman in most’s eyes and therefore ready to settle down.

Geralt had been more worried the two men wanted to bed the girl rather than… 

They would have bought her then bedded her, he realized, anger making his blood boil. Perhaps they would have just grabbed her and left if Jaskier or Geralt hadn't been there, and if Elaine were any other deaf girl. 

Yet, Elaine persisted as always. Her knuckles were bloody and she had a nasty bruise forming on her face, but she beamed as the second man went down. She waved towards her fathers as cheers erupted from the crowd gathered around the fight. Curses and groans were heard from those who had better on the two men. 

Jaskier and Geralt earned a full crown’s worth of silver from their pledges.

Everything was fine and dandy until a cracked voice rang out over the din, “she’s not human she is!” soon other voices were joining a man who had lost his bet.

“Yeah! No girl can fight like that!” a man called out in agreement.

A woman whispered to another woman “Did you see her hears? I swore they were pointed. She’s an elf!”

“Looks too fine to be an elf, you're daft.” yelled a man as the whispers spread.  
At the mention of elves the whole crowd frenzied.

“I saw them too! Elvan scum!”

“Look at her eyes! Only vile creatures have eyes like that.”

Soon townspeople were grabbing at Elaine's skirts and trying to pry her back. a younger woman grabbed at her hair with a forceful grip causing Elaine’s had to be yanked backwards. Geralt pushed to his feet, his silver forgotten on the table as he pushed the woman off of Elaine, the young girl whimpering as her hair was tugged from her scalp. 

“I'll dispose of her,” he growled loudly, making sure to form the words in a way Elaine couldn't read. 

Elaine thrashed in his grip as he hoisted her over his shoulder, banging her fists on his back to let her go.

Jaskier was so lost in the affair that he was unsure of what was happening.

Geralt hoisted Elaine onto roach and told her to run, the horse taking flight just as the townsmen caught up to them.

“She got away? That filthy little wench! I'll cut her throat if I ever see that bastard again!” 

Geralt took off after roach, running fast and hard to catch up to the mare. Roach was a quick steed, so he hoped she wouldn't go too far, as she had a terrible habit of getting stuck and not being able to come when he whistled. 

Jaskier was puffing behind him, face beet red in anger and exertion. 

“Geralt!” he called as he fell behind, his running slowing to a stop. “Geralt wait-” he was gasping for breath, head between his knees as he braced himself. The alcohol in his system made his head swim as he heaved up whatever as in his stomach. Running was not his strong suit, especially while the buzz of drink was still in his blood.

He continued running after confirming he would not throw up again.

Roach was never one to leave her master, but she had been so startled by the noise that Geralt knew she would run. It was fool's luck that the villagers had not seen him hoist Elaine other the back of the horse.

He kept a neck-breaking pace until he was far enough away from the town. Jaskier would catch up eventually. He could always backtrack after he’d found Elaine; Jaskier could handle himself for the time beginning. 

Reluctantly Geralt dropped part of his amour on the side of the road. Jaskier as observant and she would recognize the shoulder plate as Geralt's. Maybe he’d get the idea that the witcher had gone into the woods when roach refused to return when he whistled. 

_Breadcrumbs_ , the witcher thought. 

Calling out for Elaine was useless, she couldn't hear him. Roach could though, the steed rarely refused to come to Geralt. the hoofmark had ended on the trail, only trampled plants and broken branches had lead Geralt to believe that the horse and the elf girl were in the woods. 

He had been searching for hours before he heard a scream coming from his left. 

Geralt took off, his feet crushing foliage under his feet as he listened for anything to help him figure out where the person was. 

He ran straight into a small clearing, a hulking figure was hunched over, blocking Geralt’s view of what was going on. 

A spriggan, he figured. its un-proportional arms and legs looked like they were made of wood while its bare torso resembled flesh. Geralt knew that spriggans usually were indifferent to humans unless provoked. He sheathed his silver sword but used caution as he approached. 

As he drew closer he could see a humanoid cowering on the ground as the spriggan reached out a clawed hand, its expression more of curiosity than malicious intent. 

Geralt’s heart stopped when he got a look at the human's face only to see that it wasn't one at all, but an elf. Not Elaine, but a boy about her age. His skin was dark like hers but he had thin and spindly limbs. His eyes were huge as the spriggan game closer. 

A snapping sound startled both the spriggan and the boy as Geralt, distracted by the sight, stepped on a twig, the wood splintering under his heel.

the spriggan stood and dashed off into the forest, obviously not interested enough in the elf and reluctant to be seen. 

“Do you understand common?” Geralt asked, kneeling in front of the child. The boy scrambled as far back as he could, curling into a ball to protect himself as if Geralt was going to strike him.

“I won't hurt you. Im looking for my daughter. She’s also an elf, like you.” at this the boy looked up and gave Geralt a cautious once over, uncurling himself when the witcher sat on the ground a little ways away from him. “Do you understand me?” Geralt asked. The boy nodded but did not speak.

“Can you speak common? My elder speech is a little rusty.” Geralt chuckled, trying to coax the boy out of his shell. 

“.. y-yes,” came the shaky reply, the elf’s voice was so quiet Geralt had to lean closer to hear him properly. 

“Did you see a girl and a horse? She looks like you, but her hair is longer, and she had light purple eyes,” Geralt described, thinking about all of Elaine's most prominent features. “She makes gestures with her hands. Her name is Elaine”

“Lovely,” the boy said, his brows pinched in thought. “Why is she called lovely?”

“Her mother named her that, I suppose.”

The boy stewed for a minute before pointing. “I saw a horse over there.”

“But did you see a girl?”

“No, sir.”

Geralt huffed, standing up and dusting the dead leaves off his arse. “Thank you…”

“Dara,” the elvan boy supplied.

“Geralt,” the witcher returned pleasantries.

Seeing that he wasn't needed anymore, Dara scrambled to his feet and ran off into the woods.

Geralt on the other hand, walked in the direction the boy had pointed, his sharp whistle for roach cutting through the damp silence of the forest. He started running when he heard a Winnie in response. 

His feet slid on the littered the forest floor as he came to a halt, roach had managed to get herself stuck, the mare's hoof trapped in the roots of a tree. Elaine was running towards him, probably feeling the thump of his feet through the earth. 

**Roach Stuck** she signed, frantically gesturing to roach as the horse kicked, trying to dislodge her foot.  
Elaine looked battered and bloody. thin lacerations were on her cheeks as well as scrapes on the palms of her hands and she was holding her ribs. It was evident that roach got stuck mid-flight and had thrown Elaine off her back. Geralt assessed her quickly, nothing was broken, her breathing was sound, and her heart was racing, but probably only from adrenaline. 

Geralt moved to assess roach. The horse nipped at his jacket when he approached, butting her head into his shoulder. He stroked her mane, whispering to her until she was calmed. She’d killed a man with her kick once and Geralt would rather not break his nose and half of his teeth today.

He managed to pry her free with the help of some bear grease he had on hand for blade oils. Luckily she hadn't sprained or broken the ankle.

His own adrenaline was running thin, no longer panicked about Elaine or his horse. Geralt allowed himself to take a deep breath. He gathering Elaine in his arms, his large hand cradling her head as he stroked her hair. Her shoulders were trembling, trying to fight back tears.

She backed out of his embrace for a moment only to sign **why** Before she was pressing her face back into Geralt's chest, her bloodied fingers gripping his jacket as her knuckles turned white. 

Geralt rocked her like he used too when she was a baby, cradled to his chest while she cried. He’d hoped he’d never need to do it again, yet here they were.

He felt one of Elaine's hands let go of him to make a small swooping motion with her hand.

 **Jaskier**

Geralt internally cursed. He was in such a rush he’d forgotten about the damn bard. He pulled away to gestured to where he thought the direction of the footpath was. He’d completely forgotten to mark his trail other than the one shoulder plate.

If Jaskier had followed him into the forest, they were all well and truly fucked. 

Knowing that if there was a spriggan nearby a leshen must inhabit the woods, watching over and protecting the greenery. Geralt carefully gathered stones and already fallen branches to build a fire, meticulously ensuring no flame would touch the forest floor. 

Night came and Geralt bedded down, roach grazed happily, occasionally twitching her foot that had gotten stuck. Elaine slept a few paces away from Geralt on the other side of the fire, curled up in a ball with her arms wrapped around her chest. Her breath would occasionally hitch as she tried to hold back tears.  
The conversation they’d had before nightfall had been hard; Geralt explained what had happened in the tavern, why the townspeople had grabbed her and who that none of what they said mattered. 

But it had mattered to Elaine.

The girl had stewed in her bedroll until the dead of night. when she finally observed Geralt slipping deeper into sleep, she softly got to her feet, watching for branches she knew could snap under her. Even if she couldn't hear, Geralt, or anything else in the forest, could. 

Geralt had known this too, as he had taught her how to be stealthy and quiet, making her walk for hours over all types of terrain until he could barely hear her. A normal human wouldn't be able to, but Geralt's incredible hearing could pick up on a heartbeat of a mouse. Very, very few things could sneak up on a witcher. 

The witcher’s daughter was almost as stealthy. 

Her parents had explained to her why she could never show her ears in public, that she was part elf and that turned all of humanity against her. She understood that Geralt faced the issue as well when he travelled. That's why for years and years Geralt had travelled separately. Truly Jaskier was her father, the man had looked out for her and taught her so much of the skills she needed. Yet, Geralt connected with her in a way Jaskier could not. 

That's why she wished Jaskier was her, her other father would have sympathized with her. Geralt had experienced xenophobia for decades, his skin tough against words. Geralt no longer remembered how it felt to experience hatred like that for the first time. 

***

The knife in her pocket was heavy as she quietly moved away from the glow of the fire. she could still see where they had made camp, she wasn't stupid enough to get lost in the dense forest, but she couldn't follow through feet away from Geralt. The witcher practically slept with one eye open. 

She found a spot on the ground and pulled her supplies out of her pockets. Bandages, her knife, a small strap of leather, a strip of cloth, and a mirror shard she had scrounged a few weeks back.  
She dexterously tied back her hair with the strip of cloth and, once finished, she examined her ears using the mirror. Her sight was sharp even in the dark, a token from her damned heritage. 

She used her knife to cut a shallow and stinging cut where she wanted her new ears to end. She did so on both sides, checking that they looked even, using her finger to cover up the point, trying to get a sense of what her ears would look like.

She hadn't risked stealing some of Geralt's alcohol, especially after he had caught her searching through his potion’s bag. The scolding had left her in tears, running to her other father. She had only been ten at the time, but the memory still frightened her. 

Elane’s hands shook as she bit down on the leather, hoping it would stop her from biting her tongue or crying out too loudly. She wasn’t stupid. She knew Geralt would find out; she knew he would be furious.

It was a coward's choice, cutting off her ears to fit into the human’s society. Geralt would be disappointed she wasn't stronger, pushing her to test the boundaries.

She was a coward, plain as day. She hadn’t fought back, only allowed the people to grab her, tear her hair, and slander her with cruel words.

She was weak.

Before she brought her knife up to her ears again, Elaine looked to the sky, tears slowly dripping from her eyelashes and landing on dried leaves.

**sorry father** , she signed to the sky, disgrace to family. She was unsure if she meant a disgrace to her elvan family for what she was about to do or a disgrace to the human one she had been taken into. Perhaps a little of both.

With the shard of mirror propped against a log, she watched as her knife cut deeply into her flesh, the pain of the action registering only a moment later. She instantly clamped her teeth down on the leather strap, her unused vocal cords fighting to let out a cry of pain. Her scenes were alight, the pain increasing as she instinctively tried to reach out and assess her surroundings. 

The scent of blood made her stomach churn as she forced herself to watch the sharp knife cut along her guidelines. It was horrific to watch herself, the knife sliding through the cartilage like it was soft cheese.

When the pointed tip finally came away, Elaine threw it as far as she could, her stomach revolting at her own hands, covered in her blood. She retched until she could no longer vomit, her stomach cramping in vain.

Her slicked fingers had a difficult time grasping her other ear, the dark crimson dripping from her ear as well as trailing hot and sticky down her neck. 

The other ear came off much slower, her grip continued to slip from her blood and the knife felt like lead in her hands. Eventually, the second tip came off, the bloodied point that had once been attached to her ear lay in the palm of her hand. She looked as if she had taken a trophy, a token to collect coin or just a momento of a good kill. Geralt had many teeth, claws, or even the blood of creatures he’d killed in his possession. 

Elaine sobbed, her teeth grinding against the musty leather in her mouth as her tears made clean grooves on her bloodied face and neck. 

She had little to bandage her ears with so she cut her hair tie in half, using the fabric to create a makeshift bandage. She wiped her knife on the ground, using her already ruined shirt to get the rest of the blood off. 

She was still in her small clearing when she felt soft feet, much smaller than Geralt's or Jaskier’s, padding across the forest floor. 

With her knife in hand, she spun to face the stranger. Her head reeled at the sudden change in position as her vision clouded with spots. 

The footfalls got closer before hands grabbed her shoulders, steadying her where she stood. The person who belonged to the hands was none other than a meer boy. A cap was pulled tightly over his head and his eyes were dark, brows pinched in an expression Elaine couldn’t place. 

The boy’s hands reached for her face and she pushed him away, stumbling as her feet lost traction on the slippery leaves. 

The boy was on the ground, his eyes wide and his mouth moving. Elaine was unable to read him properly, his lips moving too faintly for her to discern complete words. 

She considered running back to Geralt for a moment, but instincts told her that the boy meant no harm. Still, she was cautious as she reached down and helped the boy to his feet, putting distance between them after he had regained his footing. 

**who you**? She signed, tilting her head in question, making sure to use the simplest and most direct signs she knew to ask the question.

The boy looked confused, his eyes widening. 

If Elaine wasn’t in so much pain and if she also wasn't worried the boy might have companions, she might have laughed at his confusion. Instead, she nodded solemnly, blinking as dots still clouded the edges of her vision. 

The boy looked at his hands, eyes wide as he saw the blood now staining his hands, his eyes flicked up and only grew more panicked at the same time as Elaine felt fresh blood drip down her neck. 

The boy took a half step back, looking in the direction of the fire.

_Geralt_

Instinctually she grabbed his arm, her nails biting into his skin. She knew a choked sound must have come out of her mouth as she felt her vocal cords humm. the boy turned back, eyes still like supper plates. 

Elaine let go of his arm and the boy yanked it back, holding it close to his chest. He was talking again and she could only discern a few words, mostly why and hurt. 

She stopped her hands from making a snappy reply, of course it fucking hurt. She was covered in fucking blood and she would surely get chastened by Geralt or Jaskier… or both. Her mind suddenly rushed back to the tavern, hands grabbing her what they had said. Eliane shuddered.

At that, the boy started to rummage around in his coat. He pulled out a small roll of bandages, too nice to belong to him. Probably stolen or bought at a harsh price. It was her turn to widen her eyes, panic and fear overtook her at the possibility of the boy finding out she was an elf. he would know as soon as her makeshift bandages were removed.

She took a step back when he approached, her hands outstretched to keep space between them. The boy only looked more distressed when she did this, causing her to stumble and fall backwards. 

She wanted to scream, Geralt had taught her how when she was little. He said she should make noise if someone ever tried to grab her or if they ever touched her in a way she didn't like. 

But she knew with absolute certainty Geralt would not only be disappointed in her self mutilation but also that she couldn't protect herself from a young boy. 

Her fingers felt around for her knife, she must have dropped it-

She gasped as she fingers found her ear tip in into the dirt, the flesh cold in her hands and pale as a full moon; all the blood had drained out of it. 

The boy stopped too, seeing it as well. He backed away, tugging the cap from his head to reveal ears just like hers had been. 

He was talking again, too fast for Elaine to understand before turning on his heels and running away, leaving Elaine on the forest floor by herself. 

She curled up in a ball and cried, the shudders and sobs only making her heave harder, disgusted that she had managed to ruin her relations with everyone she knew. 

She stayed in the spot all night, eventually crying herself to sleep, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth in the shadow of the fire. Part of her wishing Geralt would come and find her and the other part wishing he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elaine comes to the realization that her ears give away her elven heritage so she removes the pointed tips of her ears. after this occurs a young boy (Dara, who Geralt had met) finds her and offers to help her bandage her head. when he realizes she is an elf as well and has cut off her points, he runs away. Elaine quietly cries herself to sleep, fearing that she has made everyone who she has ever know angry with her decision.


	5. The Trouble with Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is influenced by how I felt playing the games (regarding love interests anyway) so.... some more emotional turmoil and Geralt being mean to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, two chapters in the same day! I really wanted to let you know the Elaine was okay. sorry for hitting you with more angst so soon, but it's all internalized so it's fine... haha...right?
> 
> I realize now in retrospect this could have non-con vibes, but I promise its just Geralt being a stupid guy and wanting to hurt himself for his emotions, not Jaskier pressuring him to do anything. its dub-con at worst. again, if you're not it to that its okay (and totally understandable) skip the bit after the ***

Geralt woke to a dead fire and the smell of blood, the coppery tang of human blood mixed with a pungent smell that always accompanied elves, dark and earthy.

He shot out of bed like and bolt from a crossbow, his eyes falling to the empty bedroll that belonged to Elaine. It was cold and had been cold for any hours. 

cursing, Geralt smelled the air, but all his senses could pick up on was stale blood. That alone made Geralt’s skin crawl. So he followed his nose and the scuffled trail of footprints. 

After a few minutes he saw her, the half-elf curled up on the forest floor. 

The flood of relief he felt kindled into worry at the scent of fresh blood. He knelt to Elaine, the girl flinching when his hand brushed against her cheek. There was blood all down her neck and Geralt's heart faltered, its slow and steady beats no longer slow and steady. 

He all but shook the girl awake, her lips blue and her face that was usually warm and bronzed was pale as weak ale, all the warmth she carried sapped from her. 

“Fuck.” 

Elaine stirred, her muted purple eyes fluttered open as she slowly awoke. Her eyes unfocused as she stared up at Geralt, her body limp as she lay in his arms. 

“Fuck!” he cursed. 

The girl’s lips were blue, either from cold or the shock. Judging by how much blood had soaked into the collar of her shirt and how much of it had dried in her hair and on the leaves behind her, Geralt guessed it was both. 

The forest was much colder than it had been yesterday, Geralt's breath billowed out in puffs of steam while Elaine’s only faded into the air.

She was much too cold. 

he shed his cloak and wrapped it tightly around the girl, furiously rubbing her arms and back with his hands to generate heat. She looked no better.

He carried her back to their camp. after he piling her under all the blankets he had, he remade the fire, thankful that he had gathered more wood than necessary the night before. 

After the fire was lit, he pulled Elaine close to his chest, hoping that his body heat would reduce the shock. She was disturbingly unresponsive, only opening her eyes and blinking in confusion. After a few minutes her lips regained some pigment, but her skin was still unusually pale.

He searched her for injuries, bandaging her bloodied knuckles from her fight a day prior, checking to make sure her ribs were alright after Roach threw her the night before, and trying to figure out where all the blood was coming from. He’d washed away most of the blood on her neck, thankful that there were no bite marks. 

That ruled out any type of vampire. 

Her hair was matted with it, flakes of dried blood as he searched her head for any lacerations. It was only when his finger brushed stiff fabric did Elaine startle.

A weak moan fell from her lips, her body curling away from Geralt.

The fresh scent of blood made his nostrils sting. 

It took him only a moment to figure out where the blood was coming from after that. 

At first, he had been furious. Not particularly at Elaine, but the whole situation. All the actions that had lead to Elaine feeling the need to cut off her own fucking ears. 

It was still night when he had finished properly bandaging his daughter. the fire needed to be stoked and Elaine needed more water to replenish the blood she’d lost. Thankfully, her skin was no longer deathly pale and her natural deep skin tone was back. Her hair was a mess and desperately needed a thorough washing or two, as well as her ears needed a deeper cleaning. Geralt had used _Axii_ to keep Eliane asleep as he had peeled the cloth she had used as a bandage off the scabbing cuts. Most of the scabs had been peeled off in the process causing fresh bleeding. 

As a witcher, Geralt had an extensive knowledge of medicine and herbology. He’d been able to stop the bleeding quickly by gently smearing on an infection repelling cream suitable for humans and bandaging the area as tightly as possible. 

He was starting to fall into a light dose himself when he heard a breathless voice calling out. The person was too far for even his witcher senses to distinguish the words, but it sounded human. 

Against his better judgment, he lay Elaine back under the blankets by the fire before he grabbed his swords and set out to find the lost soul. Learning from his previous mistake, Geralt used a stick to make a deep groove in the earth, just in case he got too far from the fire to see it's light. 

He needed only walk for a moment before he could understand the voice. Once he was able to understand the words the weight on his chest lifted immensely, for it was Jaskier.

The bard must have caught a faint glimpse of the firelight in the dark. 

The bard looked worn out and exhausted, practically falling asleep after flinging himself into Geralt's arms. The middle-aged man was dragging his feet as Geralt brought him back to the camp.

Elaine was stirring under her blankets, her eyes were open and she was trying to get up, her arms weak from blood loss. Jaskier, upon seeing his daughter, seemed more lucid as he stumbled over to her, his eyes wide at the blood in her hair and the bruises on her face.

“Oh, my darling… what did they do to your face?”

“She did that bit herself.” Geralt muttered, trying to keep his anger out of his voice, for it was not directed at Elaine. “Jaskier, she cut off her ears.”

“The whole thing!?” Jaskier yelped, pushing back Elaine’s hair with shaking hands to get a look at the injuries. “Oh gods, oh gods… shit, Geralt what happened. I can't-”

The bard was starting to panic, his already laboured breathing becoming more so as he tried to understand what has happened since he had last seen Geralt and Elaine. Geralt wrapped the human in his strong grip, hoping the pressure would calm him down.

“No, just the tips. She made herself look like a human.” he spat.

Jaskier only nodded, trying to reach for Elaine again, who was moaning, her arms reaching out for Jaskier. 

Geralt let him go and was watched with a sad smile as Jaskier, exhausted as he was, sang to Elaine. He let the girl put her hands on either side of his throat so she could feel his singing, the bard’s hands steadying her weak ones.

It was bittersweet, but they were all together again. Overall not much damage was done and they would all heal. 

Elaine was still disoriented and dizzy come morning, so she and Jaskier, who was desperately in need of a good night’s sleep, rode atop roach, the horse protesting against the weight. 

Geralt followed the light of the rising sun, travelling east. 

It took two days to reach the edge of the forest, from there the witcher could finally locate a town that would, hopefully, be more kind than the last.

Elaine had slept periodically, being held by either Jaskier or Geralt. She had yet to fully wake, but no fever or infection had taken hold so they just hoped it was just her body taking the time to regain her strength. 

Her ears and scabbed over to the point where bandages were no longer necessary, most of the healing already finished its course.

Geralt was dreading the conversation he would undoubtedly have with his daughter. He feared his emotions would get the better of him, as they usually did when it came to Eliane being in danger. He’d confided in Jaskier as they set off towards the town, the bard straddling Roach with Elaine asleep against his back. 

“I'm not mad at her,” Geralt insisted, his frustration already peeking through to his words. “I'm frustrated at the word we live in, that the people of the continent don't listen before they speak. More often than not they grab pitchforks and torches before they even know the time of day.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to only humm in response. 

Usually, Geralt would have teased him to his lack of words, but that response seemed inappropriate for the topic. 

“What do you want her to know form the conversation?” Jaskier finally asked, looking to Geralt.

Geralt thought for a minute or two as Roach trotted faithfully beside him, he gently stroked her flank as he though. Eventually, he found the right words to express himself. 

“I want her to know that their opinion shouldn’t matter, but it will. It always will… and that it will get easier to bear, but the response won't change. I want her to know that im not angry at her, just those _whoresons that want to make her fucking life as miserable as-”_

Jaskier coughed, a smile on his face at Geralt’s colourful choice of words.

“Ah, well… yes. That.” Geralt muttered, taking a moment to regroup his emotions back into the basket he kept them in. “I just.. I just want her to be _happy_ , Jaskier. I just want her to be anything but me. _Destiny,_ ” he spat, “delt her a shitty hand of cards, and why should she need to pay for that?”

There when his emotions, slipping free of the basket. He really should get an iron box or a chest to lock them away in. 

A thin hand rested on his shoulder as Jaskier silently comforted him, the small scar that he had gotten so long long ago casting a slight shadow on his cheek. 

“Damn you and your ability to draw out my words like a fucking sponge,” Geralt groaned, pulling away from Jaskier. 

“But you love me for it.”

“Do I?” Geralt chuckled, unsure if he did.

“You damn well should, I'm your husband after all.” Jaskier quipped, his heart laugh drowning out the chirping birds.

“No your not. I have never been married in my life.” _and I never will_

“Welllllll… we've been travelling together for over two decades, I’d count that as at least engaged if nothing else.”

This was Geralt’s only qualm with asking Jaskier to father Elaine with him. He hadn't thought about how it would sound, how it might imply Geralt eventually wanted to settle down. Geralt knew he would outlive Jaskier, he was a simple human. He had no plans to tie himself to anyone. Elaine would outlive him as well, perhaps even outliving Geralt if she didn't tag along with him forever. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

“Oh. why are you making that look, I was only teasing,” Jaskier said breezily, although Geralt picked up on the underlying hurt in his voice. 

Geralt had known Jaskier had feelings for him for quite some time, the bard had as ditties he’d written about a particular wither’s ass that Geralt never wished to hear again. Not to mention Jaskier followed him everywhere like an imprinted duckling. Geralt never wished to hurt his friend, for they were friends. He’d been fine with their occasional coupling; the road well-travelled rarely left time to visit brothels, and Jaskier was an attractive man, small and wire-thin. Geralt never found himself loving the bard in the way the bard loved him, though. However, he could take that to his grave and spare Jaskier the humility of floundering over a low-life witcher. Not to mention poor Elaine had already lost two parents. She would be distraught to lose another. 

“Now, that is a face I truly don't like, “ Jaskier tisked, “what’s eating you Geralt?”

“Another time Jaskier,” Geralt replied, he didn't have it in his loveless heart to lie to the bard. 

“Geralt…”

“Horseflies, Jaskier. The damned horseflies.” Geralt answered, somewhat truthfully.

“Oh! Well if that's the only issue then-” Jaskier continued to talk, then started to strum absently on his lute after realizing that Geralt wasn't listening. He knew full well there was more to the issue, but he didn't want to press further. 

Geralt himself was in deep thought. He’d always thought the trials took the want for a bond out of a witcher, but Lambert had had a fair few of his own. Geralt, however, had gone through more trials than Lambert, Eskel, or any other witcher he knew. That's why he was the “white wolf.” perhaps his lack of romanticism was due to extra mutations blocking out the unnecessary emotions.

But surely they would have also taken out sexual attraction as well because Geralt seemed to have an abundance of that. He was always down for a good fuck. The issue was, unlike his witcher brothers, he had no preference for his sexual partners, other than humanoid, alive, and consenting. 

Every time he thought he was over the issue, Jaskier would bring it up again and Geralt would be flung back into the turmoil he wished to never think about again.

By the time they had reached the town, it was mid-day and Geralt felt a strong desire to pamper roach, his steed having done all the heavy lifting for the past few days. With the coin he’d won fro Elaine’s victory, he purchased two day’s worth of care for roach. He insisted on washing her himself, not trusting the stable hand as much as he would have liked. 

His shirt and pants were soaked when he finally joined with Jaskier and Elaine. The girl was awake and much more lucid than Geralt had seen her in days. 

As soon as she saw him she started signing, her hands less clumsy than before but she was growing frustrated as she signed. 

She explained what Geralt already knew, that she had done it to protect her, to protect them. She knew it was cowardly and wrong, but now she could be free to go without accompaniment -Ha! As if Geralt would let that happen- and that she was sorry, but would have repeated her actions. 

**Angry not** ? she asked, hey eyes hopeful. she rubbed her open hand on her chest, repeating **please** , **angry** , and **not** over and over until Geralt got up and gave her a crushing hug. 

**Never angry you** , he signed when he withdrew from the embrace.

 **Okay** , she signed back, hanging her head. **Sorry**.

He used his thumb to gently lift her chin, giving her a sad smile. **never need be sorry**. **Never**.

Eventually, Jaskier took Elaine to get a bath, not trusting the young woman who offered to wash Eliane in case she saw the scabs on Elaine’s ears. It worked out because the woman looked downright repulsed at the sight of Elaine's bloody and matted hair.

Geralt’s shirt was clinging to his chest while he used his whetstone to sharpen his swords, using blade oil to protect the blade from water damage. The sheath for swords had a particular lining that adsorbed the oil, slickening the blade whether he drew or sheathed his swords.

Jaskier watched, incredibly aroused, from his position in the doorway. He watched the muscles shift under the witcher's now translucent and skin-tight shit. The grind of the whetstone on the powerful downstroke and then again on the upstroke made Jaskier think of dangerously pleasurable things. 

“Got any other words you need to oil?” he asked from the doorway.

Geralt almost hadn't noticed the bard, all of his concentration focused on the maintenance of his swords. When Jaskier spoke, Geralt flinched a little; not at the sound, but the adoration and lust in his voice.

The small flitch meant utter agony to his hand as blood dripped down from the slice he had inflicted to his palm, the blood running down the freshly oiled blade.

“Fuck, Geralt I am _so_ terribly sorry-” Jaskier stopped mid apology as Geralt only grunted, wiping the blood off the blade before sheathing it. He wrapped his hand tightly in a moment before approaching Jaskier. 

“Where’s Elaine?”

“I got her her own room, it's been far too long Geralt… I can't stop thinking about you. My dreams-”

Geralt was tired of the bard’s rambling so he cut it off with a harsh kiss, desperately trying to communicate his emotions involving Jaskier into it.

_I don't want to hurt you, I can't love you, you can't find what you seek in me._

  
*******  


The message didn't take root as Jaskier only kissed back deeper, running his dexterous fingers over the muscle on Geralt's arms. 

Despite his violent displeasure at what was happening, Geralt found himself responding to Jaskier’s hot kisses, open-mouthed and travelling lower until his lips met Geralt’s sopping wet collar.

“Off,” the bard commanded, not usually one to take charge it bed but not one to back down. 

So Geralt did as he was told, his stomach sinking into his feet as he realized that Jaskier noticed nothing askew. 

He needed to make the bard happy, and if he wanted a fantasy, a fantasy Geralt could give him. 

He refused to fuck the bard, despite wanting to please him. Sucking him off would do just as well and that way it wasn't as symbolic.

He refused to let Jaskier return the favour in any form until Jaskier’s fingers were under his breeches and were jerking him off. Geralt’s request to stop dying on this tongue as a gasp took its place. 

He wished he could stick to his resolutions, it would make everything less messy when Jaskier inevitably found out what it meant to be a witcher. It wasn't all eyes of a viper, heroics, and a happily ever after.

No, a witcher was cold, deadly, and emotionless.

Why couldn't Geralt have been a decent wither?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for reading this far if you have! I know it got a little heated at the end there, but I want to refrain from anything like smut until I have some people's reactions. if I were to write some more detailed sexual scenes in this story, would you be okay with that? and would you also be comfortable if they still shared Geralt's mindset around sex that he had in this chapter? I'm just looking for some audience responses as I am also writing this for you as much as I am writing this for myself!
> 
> pls let me know (it doesn't affect the plot either way)


	6. Make the Bard Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me: *places my hand gently on Geralt's shoulder so he won't kill me, whispering to the readers* you won't believe how much angst I can cram into this guy
> 
> seriously though, there not a lot of comfort in this chapter, but there is smut so... that's a plus. again, the same warning from the last chapter applies to his one. it's not non-con, but it's slightly dubious at best.

Elaine and Jaskier stayed at an inn while Geralt worked contracts, usually coming back to their room covered in blood, guts, mud; or more commonly, all three. After tiring of drowners that seemed to infect every damp area on the continent, Geralt took a larger contract from a gardener who sought out the eradication of an Echinops. The beasts were covered in long spines and would launch them at anyone who dared enter the gardener’s garden. It had taken a liking to his fruit trees and the man’s business of selling fruit cordial was plummeting. An exaggerated and deadly version of a porcupine was what he was directed to kill, the offer of five hundred orens plus three bottles of fine cherry cordial swayed the witcher's mind.

The hunt only took two days, but Geralt slept for another after returning to the inn, the quills Jaskier had pulled from his thighs and torso added to the bundle for the gardener. 

Jaskier had been busy playing at markets and in taverns, taking coin where there was coin to be had. Other times he told tales of grand adventures to anyone who would listen, their eyes bulging wide as he told of the majestic white wolf’s heroics. 

Elaine found odd jobs to do at the market or taverns, washing dishes or setting up stall karts for old ladies who had enough silver to spare a few for the girl’s helpfulness. More often than not she was stuck in the inn, little work was suited for girls and so she practiced her Gwent and dice skills, cheating a boy a few years older than her out of so much gold she feared he would kill her if he found out she had rigged the cards. 

She tried not to bother Geralt, who had been in a foul mood ever since arriving in town. his ever-present frown was replaced with a scowl that made most shiver with its intensity. 

It was after yet another contract where he had come back with half as much coin as promised and a deathly glare on his face that Jaskier paid the precious silver for her to have her own room, an occasion that meant either Geralt was too injured, drunken too many potions to be sane, or other reasons Elaine refused to think about.

Unlike Elaine, who knew better than to poke a sleeping kikimore, Jaskier practically flicked its nose.

“You're brooding again,” the bard muttered, circling the witcher. “You've been brooding all week.”

“Talk to someone else about bloody chickens, Jaskier.” Geralt muttered from his position on the bed, stomach flush with the hay-filled mattress. The pain and exhaustion he felt after the hunt was making him more irritable than usual. Taking into account the renewed feelings about Jaskier, Geralt was in the worst mood at the worst time possible.

“See! This is exactly what im talking about. Brooding,” the bard said, spinning on his heed to point at Geralt. 

“I just want some damned peace and quiet. neither of those things ever accompany your presence, unfortunately.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped, mouth agape like a floundering carp.

“Shut up Jaskier. I have an early start tomorrow and I don't need my free time being adsorbed by your yacking. “

but, in Jaskier’s usual fashion, he never stopped. He continued to poke, jab, and prod at Geralt, only letting up when the witcher stopped responding. 

Geralt had tuned out the bard, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut as exhaustion finally overtook him. It was only until he felt cold fingers on his back and warm lips on his shoulder did he realize that Jaskier had no intention of relenting the topic. He cracked open one amber eye, his pupils dilating in the dim light. 

The bard had shed his shirt, the fine fabric neatly folded on a chair a few paces away. Jaskier’s hair was unkempt, undoubtedly from running his hands through it so much it stuck up on its own, and he had a smirk on his face that only meant trouble; the human got awfully anxious whenever he needed to pull, pluck, or remove things from Geralt’s wounds.

Gerlt sighed, pressing his head into the scratchy pillow, wishing the bard would _just go away_ , but Geralt seldom got what he wanted.

Instead, Jaskier decided that the ghostly light touches of his fingers and occasional press on his lips to Geralt's scars were no longer reasonable. With a grunt of discomfort from Geralt, the bard straddled the witcher's thighs. his fingers dug into the twisted muscle beneath his hands as he forcefully massaged out the knots in Geralt's upper back and shoulders. 

Unbeknownst to Jaskier, the action was creating the opposite of the intended effect. Geralt only tensed more, fighting to keep himself pliant under the bard’s fingers. 

Eventually, Jaskier returned to kissing, this time hot, needy, and open-mouthed as they seemed to try and consume Geralt. There were worse situations to be in, the witcher reminded himself as he felt Jaskier’s hardening cock press against the inside of his thigh.

He distracted himself by going over all the information about the fighting tactics against giant centipedes, the likes of which had been mentioned by travelling merchants. If all else failed an apothecary or a mage might want for the spell components. The lurked underground or in caves until they could hear prey, taking roach would be too risky; she had too many legs. The centipedes had many, many legs, each ending with razor-sharp spikes that could impale a man.

Thinking about the beat’s mandibles almost made him completely soft again, the two incredibly powerful-

His thoughts about the creatures were cut shot as Jaskier, ever so demanding for attention, latched onto his neck like a leach, sucking marks into his skin and nipping at the junction between his neck and shoulder.

Geralt cursed his body as a particularly needy bite made his own member twitch. 

“I want you Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his warm breath making gooseflesh rise on Geralt's neck.

_You shouldn't_

Jaskier gave a breathy moan as he bucked against's Geralt’s thigh, desperate for friction. “I need you.”

_You don't_

More marks were sucked onto Geralt's neck before Jaskier bit at his ear, tugging just slightly before pulling away again to trace Geralt's scars with his lips. 

Geralt was throbbing in his trousers; his attempts to ignore Jaskier’s words and actions from affecting him were slowly crumbling. 

“Please,” the bard begged, his hips twitching with the lack of resistance. “Please, Geralt.” He sounded wrecked already, his voice hitching in time with his weak thrusts. 

“Can't do much on my stomach.” Geralt muttered, lifting his hips off the bed to stop himself from grinding into the mattress. 

“Hurry up then, I’m wanting,” Jaskier muttered, dismounting the witcher so he could turn over onto his back. 

Geralt was only half hard but, as Jaskier crawled on top of him and eagerly ground into him, he felt himself respond, a tent forming in his trousers. Jaskier only moaned as his member grazed against the cloth.

Unhappy with Geralt's state of undress, or lack thereof, Jaskier started to unlace the man’s breeches, stopping with a squawk of surprise when Geralt's strong hands gripped his wrists. 

“No, not tonight,” he growled as if saying it caused him pain. 

Jaskier himself was painfully hard, his balls heavy with his need to release. 

“But-”

Instead of answering Geralt only rushed up to meet Jaskier with a searing kiss, the witcher’s lips dry and cracked from days of travel. This effectively shut up the bard, making him melting into the kiss, his agile fingers tangling in Geralt's silver hair.

Geralt fought down a growl of his own when Jaskier tugged forcefully at his hair, causing Geralt to expose the column of his neck, already fading bruises littered his neck and shoulders. Jaskier’s lips found his carotid artery, the sensation of the human’s dull teeth grazing against it was a stark contrast from a strigga who had done so before; she, however, had done so with much less adoration and lust. Gealt was unable to suppress the shiver that shot down his spine as Jaskier bit at the vital artery. The bard knew full well he had enjoyed a mixture of pleasure and pain in his sexual desires.

Now, he’d rather the pain, blinding and hot as the strigga’s bite had been. He’d almost lost his life that day but the redemption for his work was three thousand orens, a price that had outweighed the danger. 

Geralt focused on kissing back, making sure Jaskier was somewhat content. the witcher’s blunt fingers rough against his already slick cock as he stroked the bard with strong thrusts.

Jaskier moaned like a bitch in heat as he fucked into Geralt's fist, his head falling back as he released, his cum painting Geralt’s first. It wasn't lost on him that Geralt was still hard, despite his blissed-out state. His hand palmed Geralt through his trousers, the other man stiffening under his touch. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled as his eyes focused on the bard, his hand grasping him around the wrist to pull his hand away. “Don’t.”

The skin around Jaskier’s eyes wrinkled as he frowned, his orgasm pushed to the back of his mind, “You deserve it. let me-”

“I don't.” came Geralt’s snappy reply.

Jaskier processed for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to Geralt’s lips the slightly pulled away. “Yes, you do,” he said, his lips brushing against Geralt’s as he spoke. “I love you. I love you Geralt of Rivia, and I will always love you.”

The proclamation made Geralt’s stomach lurch; the shame almost made him sick on the spot, his stomach cramping painfully like he had eaten rotten meat. He wanted to push Jaskier off of him but he found himself unable to stop the bard. 

Jaskier, interpreting the lurch of Geralt's abdomen and sudden inhale of air as a sign of arousal, began to grind his hips down on the witcher, overstimulated but eager to help the witcher with his hard-on. 

Geralt deeply despised the pleasure that engulfed him when Jaskier started grinding down on his achingly hard member, his balls feeling swollen and unhappy to be deprived of release.

“Fuck your witcher stamina, Geralt,” Jaskier panted as he tried to ease Geralt into an orgasm, however with Geralt intent on punishing himself, the poor bard was no match.

“I'll just- Jaskier stop-” Geralt commanded when the bard needed to pause and catch his breath, his body overstimulated to the point of uncomfortable pleasure. “I'll take care of it. It’s fine.”

Jaskier only nodded, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Geralt gently wiped him down with a damp cloth, making sure to get the cum off of his own hand and the bard’s chest.

Taking care of it meant pulling on his heavy overcoat and mounting roach, his erection grating against the saddle as he spurred her on, towards the river outside of town. 

He’d debated finding a prostitute, but he knew that would hurt Jaskier more than his dysfunctionality in bed, so the river it was. 

His medallion felt warm against his chest in comparison to the frigid water. He left his clothes and his swords near the bank, close enough to grab in case there were any drowners.

“There are always drowners,” he muttered to himself before he completely submerged himself in the water. His hand wrapped around his cock and for once he felt a sense of peace while experiencing pleasure, not finding the need to stop himself for someone else's sake. 

He was impeccable at staying quiet. Not a moan or grunt left his lips as he jerked himself underneath the water’s surface. The cold eased the sensation of a torch being held to his balls as Geralt sped up his pace, the water sloshing as he came to completion under the stars. 

He’d forgotten what it was like before. Jaskier was always on his heels, and Elaine followed only just behind him. He reminisced about what it had been like, just himself and Roach against the world on men and monsters. 

His heart ached to leave, to pack up and go. No strings attached, no infringement on his witcher training, no one dependant on him for protection or _love_. 

He choked at the last bit. 

I didn't want to leave them, for he did love them. He loved Jaskier, but never the way the bard wanted. And he loved Elaine like she was his own, yet he was made to never love. He had been created to be the opposite of loving. His entire being was a foil to what the past fifteen years of his life had been. 

Even so, he wouldn't trade a moment of the past fifteen years for anything. 

When Eliane was old enough, which would be soon, maybe he’d be on the path by himself again. five more years of pretending to know what he was feeling, five more years of making it up as he went along. 

Five more years until he lost the people who loved him.


	7. Ending and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I'm fixing some things that needed to be fixed and breaking some things that needed to be broken. don't hate me, please.

Destiny always had a hand in all of Geralt's misfortunes, the ineffable always sticking her metaphorical fingers in non-existant pies. 

Geralt should have learned from the djinn to never make wishes he didn't want, but he hadn’t. He had taken to the path shortly after Elaine's twenty-first birthday, the argument he had with his daughter more painful than the earlier fight with his bard. 

Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent. Jaskier never did anything silently, sex, mourning, passing time, or travelling. Noise always accompanied the bard, often making him a wandering target. But sorrow had filled his lungs and drowned out any sounds he would have made as she cried, his eyes fixed but unseeing at a wall.

Elaine had seethed with anger, fury and anguish at her father’s proposition making her sign in such a rush Geralt was unable to interpret the curses she threw at him. She had screamed at him, waist-deep in her anger she threw half-formed words as she cried, hot tears burning down her cheeks. 

They were both still a mess by the time Roach had carried the unfaithful witcher to the next town.

Elaine tended to Jaskier; the beard had slipped into a state of wakeful unconsciousness, not responding to Elaine's words or actions until days later.

The years passed but Elaine found herself longing for the road as well, with little work in the town they had called home for four years, the young woman now twenty-three and itching for her old lifestyle. 

Her only father, for Geralt -curse his soul- had been shunted from her mind, was happy for her. the bard smiled sadly as Elaine bid him a tearful goodbye. Jaskier was old now, past his prime of singing in bars and travelling the continent. 

His parting gift had been his beloved lute, the one many many years ago a tribe of elves had given him. Elaine had been told the story many times, Jaskier signing with broad gestures and flourished movements to sell the story of his first travels with the butcher of blaviken. 

She lived on the road for a while, her horse name Rosebud her only companion until an old acquaintance required help. 

Ten years had passed since she had last seen Dara, the elf boy now older and filled out. She cut down the Archesore that gripped the elf in its tendrils. The man was bloodied and poisoned, but lucid enough to recognize her as a friend rather than foe.

She nursed him back to health, for once not cursing Geralt’s training as she drove the poison out of the elf. 

They travelled together after that, Dara slowly learning signs as Elaine taught him. He too had been travelling in search of a higher purpose. 

Elaine let herself be mistaken as a witcher many times, happy that in some way she was punishing Geralt for walking out on her father, for hurting him so deep that the scar could never heal. His coin in her or Dara's pocket made her heart ache but it kept them fed and clothed. Dara never asked why she cried as she killed monsters, only interpreting her sign to whoever had offered the job.

They kissed for the first time at the Belleteyn, the scent of smoke from the bonfires in the town below heavy in the air. Both of them were equally shocked and equally eager to do so again. It was Belleteyn after all, a celebration of love and fertility. Elaine had only kissed a man once in her life, a prostitute that had ravished her on her seventeenth birthday. 

Dara’s kiss was different, not searching or seeking, but gently and soft. He pushed back after the first brush of their lips, his eyes wide and frightened. 

**I won’t go** , Elaine signed with soft gestures, her fingers moving like silk through water. **promise**.

Dara pushed himself back, his hand unsure as he leaned in again, this time maintaining contact as he kissed the woman he had been travelling with for a year now. 

Elaine guided one of his hands to the small of her back and the other to the nape of her neck. He instinctively pulled her closer, tugging her into his lap as she deepened the kiss. 

He retreated once more as her tongue dipped into his mouth, hot and wet and frightfully unfamiliar. 

She chuckled at that, a blush painting her dark cheeks an even darker colour, the warm glow of the fire dancing joyfully across her face.

He loved her, all of her. He loved her harsh signs right after a fight, the soft skin on the inside of her arms, not weathered by callouses or scars; the way her eyes reflected the stars as she stared up at them in wonder countless times, the way she flipped her dagger when she was deep in thought, and the way she pushed him to do better, to be better.

Elaine loved him too. She loved the way he always asked before touching her, the way he treated her with respect, not out of fear, but out of equity; his softness compared to her grit, and the way he evened out her impulsive and chaotic thoughts and actions. 

Dara was clumsy and inept when it came to kissing and romance, but Elaine found it more endearing than irritating. She gently eased the elf into each kiss, pushing him inch by inch out of his comfort zone, humming when he did something she liked and rewarding him with a savoured kiss. 

It went no further than innocent touching and slightly less innocent kisses, but eventually, they settled and enjoyed the view from their perch on a hill overlooking the valley. Fires in honour of the holiday burned throughout the towns nestled in the valley bed, the air hot and heavy with the scent of smoke and the warmth of the turning summer. 

Fall progressed as green forests transformed into a sea of yellows, reds, and oranges, many monsters falling back under the ground or away in dark caves to ride out the winter. However, a supply of food was needed and a full belly was everyone’s priority, man or beast. 

Elaine once again was hunting, her two silver-plated short- swords pulled from their sheaths and heavy in her hands. Her best attributes were his swiftness and her dexterity, a regular sword only slowed her down and made killing the monster ten times harder. Her twin short words allowed her to sill be light on her feet, the dual blades spinning like a whirlwind of silver. 

She and Dara had been tracing a stray wyvern that had attacked villagers after shaking a druid’s attempt at taming it. The trail led to a nearby lake, only a two-hour journey from the village. At first Elaine had no issue with the fight, the wyvern was still shaking off the druid’s containment spell and was slow on its feet. She was about to strike the killing blow when a blade intersected her short swords. the force of the impact made a painful reverberation travel through her bones. 

She gasped as her muscles spasmed and she dropped her swords.

The wyvern scurried off into the forest, it's tail between its legs. 

She turned sharply, ready to tear the bastard who made her lose her coin a new one when a face she wished to never see greeted her. 

**Geralt** she signed weakly, in shock from his sudden appearance and in pain from the jarring block. her hand shook as she formed his name, her fingers pinched in the form of a wolf head. 

She felt Dara's bounding steps a second after Geralt heard them, his head whipped around to see the other elf come crashing through the underbrush, his mouth open in a scream Elaine could feel through the air. 

She only stopped Dara in fear he would get hurt, meeting her lover halfway and wrapping her arms around his tense and quivering body. Geralt was an actual witcher, his reflexes faster than Elaine could achieve through training. Dara could very well end up without a finger or perhaps a head if he engaged the witcher.

Once Dara was calm enough not to launch himself at Geralt, Elaine turned to face the father she had banished from her heart. 

**Go** ,she signed angrily, her face furious. **Go! Not come back**

 **Elaine**... his expression was pleading. **forgiveness, I beg you**.

Eline flipped him off, trusting her fist at Geralt to punctuate her distaste for him. 

“Elaine please... your father…”

He spoke, his lips moving in a way she could never forget how to read. Her heart pumped rapidly in her chest. He looked sad, and Elaine rarely had seen Geralt of Rivia saddened.

 **Jaskier**? **what. did. you. do.** she threw each sign at him as if it was an insult. 

It took Eliane a minute to understand Geralt's incompetent signing, his structure unpracticed and choppy. 

**Sick  
Pain  
Plague  
Please  
Sorry  
hurry  
**

Dara tried to comfort her as tears slipped down her cheeks, the wyvern blood on her hands forgotten as she smeared it on her face in an attempt to stem the tears.

The elf turned her in his arms and pressed her face into his shoulder, cradling her head in his hand as she cried, her shoulders shaking with hitching sobs. her hands repeated **please** and **no** over and over on his chest. 

She felt a foreign hand on her shoulder. Geralt stood close, trying to comfort her. 

She didn't want his _comfort _. She didn’t want his _sympathy___

__She broke out of Dara's comforting hold and shoved Geralt, the witcher grunting as it caught him off guard. “wah d’yu know” she spoke in broken common, not bothering to make her words sound neat or even understandable, her lessons from Dara had paid off but she gave zero fucks now. “Wah d’yu know a’bou olve?” this time she signed along with the statement._ _

__Geralt said nor signed anything._ _

__**NOTHING**! She growled as she signed, abandoning spoken word for her fluent signing. **About love nothing you know**!_ _

__Geralt opened his mouth, about to retort when a flash of purple light momentarily blinded them._ _

__Yennefer stepped through the portal now in the clearing, the force of it causing the grass to lay flat and singed._ _

__“Geralt, his time is running out.” her voice didn't betray the sadness. “haste is of utmost importance.”_ _

__She beckoned to Elaine, who pulled Dara after her through the portal._ _

__They appeared on the other side of the portal feet away from a singular building beep in the middle of a forest, barely any light filtered through the dense evergreen trees._ _

__Upon their arrival Dara promptly vomited, the elf gasping at the sudden change of his physical form being decomposed into atoms then being fitted back together again. Elaine only felt more nauseated._ _

__“Wear this,” yennefer instructed as she handed Elaine a thick mask, conjuring another one for Dara when the elf regained control of his stomach._ _

__“Elaine, my lovely child, your father is very very ill. I have done everything that I can to make him comfortable, but he is beyond the reach of my chaos now, do you understand?”_ _

__Elaine nodded solemnly, her eyes hastily blinking back tears. **yes**._ _

__The sight of Jaskier on Yennefer’s bed made Elaine choke on a sob; Dara gripped her hand tightly as he too felt a gut-wrenching feeling of sadness._ _

__The bard was deathly pale and trembling, a crimson flush on the fight points of his face. His poor neck was swollen and red. A soft burbling sound could be heard when he took in shallow breaths, blood and mucus frothed on his lips._ _

__Instantly Elaine was sitting at her father’s side, her unoccupied hand finding his. " Jasker?’” she breathed, giving a gentle squeeze to the bard’s hand. “Father?”_ _

__By some miracle, Jaskier cracked open his eyes, the cornflower blue of his eyes dulled by fever and pain. “ ‘laine?” his cracking voice made Elaine’s heart sink further into her boots. “ can't… can't be here… you’re... too far away…”_ _

__Elaine sobbed once more, furiously blinking to keep her vision from swimming._ _

__“She’s right here,” Dara said softly, aware that Elaine didn't want to let go of his or Jaskier’s hand._ _

__Dara talked for Elaine most of the time, telling Jaskier about their adventures. Sometimes Elaine would let go of the elf’s hand to sign something, but she mostly clutched Jaskier’s hand or brushed his limp hair away from his face._ _

__Elaine took over eventually, trusting her hands not to shake as she signed and Dara interpreted._ _

__“I love you so much dad,” Dara translated for Elaine, his voice hitching as he watched tears stream uncontrollably down Elaine's face and soaking into her trousers. “I brought your lute to every tavern and I tried to play, but I wasn't ever as good as you. She- I can't carry a tune as well as you can.”_ _

__At the mention of the lute Jaskier perked up slightly, his eye a hair wider and his breathing a little stronger._ _

__“Still have it?” he asked, his voice breaking into a fit of coughs that had fresh blood bubbling over his lips._ _

__Elaine shook her head with a silent cry of pain, the lute was securely strapped to Rosebud, who was miles and miles away from their current location._ _

__“Don't cry my child,” Jaskier rasped, “I loved a good life... I got to see…. you grow up-” he coughed more, blood trickling down his chin and staining the bedsheets._ _

__**What about Geralt**? Elaine signed after wiping the blood from Jaskier’s face._ _

__“Oh, that… that… stubborn witcher… I love him more than anyone... could love anything.” there was a pregnant pause as Jaskier took a minute to breathe, the effort draining him. **I love you, Elaine** , Jaskier weakly signed before his rasping breath stole all of his strength once more._ _

__

__Jaskier passed that night. a final drink was had in his honour, the bard’s laced with nightshade and poppy’s milk to ease his pain and to end his suffering._ _

__Elaine went out into the forest with an axe and hacked away at a tree, four hours passed and she had only felled one. She was so full of anger she had warned yennefer that if Geralt came near her, she would slaughter him where he stood and feed him to drowners._ _

__It was Dara who sat with her, taking a pull from a large bottle of vodka as they sat in the woods. The canopy was too dense to see the stars, only adding to Elaine’s misery._ _

__She drunkenly rambled about all the wonderful stories Jaskier had told her as a child, breaking down in tears as she realized they all revolved around Geralt or a witcher or something tied to the _White Wolf_._ _

__**All bullshit** she signed clumsily, needing to repeat herself so Dara could understand. **blushit love**. she laughed, making the sign for Geralt’s name and then spat on her hand and crushed her fist, shaking it at the sky. _ _

__Pain showed itself in strange ways and over the next week Elaine repeated the process of chopping trees and getting drunk, more hungover in the morning than the night before._ _

__Eventually, her human heritage stepped in and she got alcohol poisoning, leaving her vomiting and chilled for a few days._ _

__Someone tended to her thought he process, helping her sit up to vomit into a basin and to rub heat into her skin._ _

__At first, confusion and delirium made her believe it was Dara; Yyennefer had left already and Geralt was licking his wounds as far away from his daughter as possible._ _

__Only when she was lucid enough to recognize the white hair and the unmistakable scar on his face did she realize Geralt had been taking care of her for days._ _

__**Geralt**? She signed weakly._ _

__A rough but gentle hand grasped hers and squeezed._ _

__She passed out again and remembered very little of those days._ _

__She ignored Geralt for months, the Witcher seemed to be tracking her, stalking her, as she and Dara moved from town to town. She was getting fewer contracts as Geralt snatched them up, the villagers trusted a well known Witcher over a smaller and 'weaker' female Witcher._ _

__She'd snagged a contract for an old woman, the reward housing for herself and Dara for a few days. The sanctuary provided Dara with a place to work and Elaine a place to rest and recover. Dara was a herbalist in training. He took notes from any apothecary, herbalist, or nurse he could find. It came in handy when Elaine lacked her father's immunity._ _

__She's managed to kill the drowners and Bloedzuigers that had taken residence in a nearby swamp, and so the lodging was theirs for three more days._ _

__It was once again too early in the morning to be awake, but the churning in Elaine's stomach forced her awake. She had been nauseated ever since the moon was high in the sky. It was hours away from the break of dawn, but she gathered her swords and mounted Rosebud._ _

__She stalled the horse as she vomited up the stew Dara had pulled together the night before. The vomiting and nausea had been constant for a few weeks now. Elaine was no idiot. She knew the signs._ _

She had gotten pregnant by a prostitute when she was seventeen. A choice was made and a potion was drunk. The cramping had been painful but in the end, Elaine never regretted her decision. She had grown up on the road and she knew first hand the horrors of humanity. A baby shouldn't be born into that chaos, and so it wasn't. 

__But now, eight years later, Elaine felt differently. She adored Dara, she loved him with every fibre in her soul. They had been constant companions for the past two years, everything done together and shared._ _

__Geralt had never experienced that with anyone, he could never understand._ _

__So it pushed her over the edge when the witcher approached her as dawn was breaking._ _

__**you are pregnant** , he accused. _ _

__Elaine, shocked that Geralt had the nerve to show his face, denied, forcefully shoving past Geralt to climb back onto Rosebud. Roach, her favourite horse as a child, butted her head against Elaine’s shoulder as she mounted her own mare._ _

__**Dara**? Geralt asked, although he probably already knew the answer._ _

__**don't know what you say** , Elaine deflected. She wished to ride off and never see Geralt again, but the way his features softened so uncharacteristically made her linger._ _

__Geralt abandoned his terrible signing and spoke, knowing Elaine could read him like a book written for peasant children. “You're sick nearly every morning. You're slower too, not as nimble.”_ _

__Elaien hissed at his accusation, **old man is one to speak**._ _

__She was surprised as Geralt laughed, a tiny smile on his face. “Grandfather,” he corrected her. “Don't lie to me, Elaine.”_ _

__**You always lie**! **Lie to jaksier, lie to me**. _ _

__Geralt sighed deeply before telling the story anew, about his reasons for leaving, about his pain, about wanting Jaskier to have someone who loved him, about all the things he felt._ _

__Elaine had never seen Geralt cry, even when Jaskier had passed the witcher had been stoic.it was unnerving to see the man who she had favoured and looked up to or so many years crumble in front of her eyes._ _

__“I wanted to! I wanted so badly, for you and him. But my heart is broken Elaine, shattered into such small fragments I could not love him.”_ _

__**still not justified** she signed, hesitantly rubbing his heaving shoulder from where she now sat in front of the witcher._ _

__“I know,” he laughed sadly, “I lied to him on his deathbed, I told him I loved him-” a sob wrenched it way from Geralt’s chest and she bowed his head to hide his misery._ _

__As much as Elaine had despised him for years, she now felt a burst of love in her chest. Geralt had loved his bard, he had loved him so much he refused to hurt him any earlier. He loved him as a dear friend, someone so close they could almost be lovers. They were lovers, she was sure, but only in the most physical sense._ _

__She and Dara had a spark, something that made their souls intertwine and become one, each giving and taking from the other. They were a bonfire burning bright against the world._ _

__Geralt was like a damp log, Jaskier’s spark unable to light the wood, but Jaskier burned hot and passionate, never giving up on the idea of a fire. Eventually, Geralt had warmed but not a roaring fire like Elaine and Dara were._ _

__The light was just breaking when they finished talking. Elaine was indeed pregnant, the baby unquestionably fathered by Dara. Geralt shed a few tears of joy then, his large hand easily covering the small bump on her abdomen._ _

__“I am so proud of you,” Geralt said, pressing their foreheads together. “Your mother would be too. … and Jaskier will always be proud of you._ _

__Elain wasn't able to understand his words when she couldn't see his lips so he repeated in sign after stepping away, making Elaine sniff with unshed tears._ _

__**I Love you, my lovely girl**._ _


	8. A Well Deserved End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woah! I finally finished a story on here! this is a bit of a wrap up for this character arch, as I think I've exhausted the characters a little. I hope this chapter is okay, but I wrote most of it with a concussion and so I might need to come back and edit the shit out of if it when I feel better.

Dara figured out she was pregnant soon after Geralt, the doctor in training finally piecing together the hits. Weeks of vomiting and Elaine’s sudden detest of alcohol were small clues added together with the softness she was starting to have around her middle. 

“You’re pregnant,” he gasped before remembering to sign. She knew how to read his lips better than anyone, so she did not need his signs, but the gestures were appreciated. 

She smiled and placed a hand on her steadily swelling stomach. **yes**! **Soon you will be father**. She rarely cried but Dara made up for her lack of tears. He beamed as he wrapped her in his arms, his cheeks wet from happy tears and his embrace not as tight as usual. 

She playfully shoved him off after a moment, her heather eyes flashing with mischief. **You respect me** , she signed with a grin. **weak or fat not now**.

Dara chuckled at his lover’s push for dominance. She always got it and he was never one to refrain her, hut her fiery spirit never dampened. **never will be** , he signed back pulling her back to him with a tug on her waist. He kissed her fiercely. His hands rested on the side her slim hips, his thumbs just brushing the protrusion of her abdomen. 

He was overwhelmed, for the first time in his life, with the sharp urge to protect her, to protect her and his child. he always wanted to protect Elaine, but she was a witcher’s daughter and needed no protection. His skills rested outside the physical realm, resting more on prevention and cleaver thinking father than force and intimidation. 

Elaine was a force to be reckoned with. 

She was able to continue to take mild contracts for the first few months, simple things that a handyman could accomplish. they were not witcher contracts, those were left to Geralt, but they earned a bit of coin until she realized it was too reckless.

She had heard stories of insane pregnant women. every townsperson she met when she could no longer hide her condition told her horrors. She looked away and refused to read their lips, but she was unable to escape some. 

Idiotic human women who endangered their unborn children or those who had no brains to know better. Elaine refused to become one of them. 

She listened to Dara, as he knew far more about elves and their bodies than she did. Her child would be more elvan than she, only a quarter of her blood from humans and the rest form the people of tarnished gold palaces. So she listened to Dara when he said she needed rest or to drink or to sleep. 

She did not enjoy the new restrictions, but she understood why they needed to be followed. 

She had promised she wouldn’t that pregnant girl that cried when she got too big to fit in her clothes or when she could no longer see her toes nor when she needed help doing daily activities, but she broke down none the less when her armour ceased to fit. 

She sat on the inn’s bed and cried over her armour. She was aware it was stupid, that it was inevitable her leather breast-plate wouldn’t fit, yet the thoughts of never returning to her old life sank deep under her skin. 

Dara returned an hour later to find her still sodden when he returned from the evening market. Elaine was unmistakably in the family way, her abdomen distended and her breasts heavy. She carried motherhood with an appearance that only Melitele herself could be compared to. 

Yet his partner sat with tears clinging to her lashes as she explained her armour mo longer fit her changing figure.

 **Of course not, my love** he signed, wincing as a few tears trailed down her dark cheeks. **no need to fight for now**.

She hugged him as tight and as close as she could, her swollen stomach flush against his. He could feel his child fluttering through his shirt now, they had grown strong over the months and wanted their presence to be known. 

She gently pressed his hands to her bare stomach. All of Elaine’s shirts were too small to cover her completely, so she’d sent Dara out for a new one, opting to stay in their room as she bathed and rested. 

The unborn babe’s kicks and grown in occurrence as well as strength, and for a second Dara sore the baby might have a third arm or leg with the amount they were squirming, undoubtedly making Elaine uncomfortable. She sifted every once in a while, wincing at a particularly hearty kick or tumble. 

As the months grew closer to the birth, Dara and Elaine moved it to the small house Yennefer had brought them to almost a year prior. It stank of sadness and memories best forgotten, but it was out of the way and safe. They- although it was mostly Dara as Elaine got winded easily- cleaned out the old house, slowly removing the dust, death, and bad memories. 

Elaine planted cornflowers and buttercups around the house, taking hours out of her day to tend to the sprouting flowers. She had never been a gardener, finding that most plants perished under her fingers. But still, the flowers took root, almost as if they knew the meaning behind their planting.

They got married two months before the baby was due; Yennefer and Geralt came along with some old friends Elaine hadn’t seen for years. Geralt walked Elaine slowly to where Dara stood with Zoltan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. The walk was slow because Elaine hadn’t realized how large she would become thought he pregnancy. Even Dara was surprised at how expectant his soon-to-be wife looked. 

The vows were quick but meaningful and soon intertwining silver and gold bands were slipped onto their fingers. Their kiss was longer and just as sweet as Yennefer conjured dandelion seeds to fall gracefully from the sky around the newlyweds. Elaine cried along with everyone else who had known Jaskier. 

It was spring, the flowers in full bloom when a pain made itself know to Elaine. It stang sharp and bitter in the muscles of her back before fading away. they occurred irregularly as Elaine tended to the garden, pulling unwanted weeds from the ever sprouting dandelions that had appeared after the wedding. 

A new pain made Elaine gasp and steady herself as this time the sharp stapping sensation migrated from her back to wrap around her stomach, making her muscles clench and harden. The cramps were unlike the false labour she had experienced before. 

She banged feebly on the wall of the house, praying to Melitele that Dara heard her. She felt his footsteps though the ground before he rounded the corner, his footfalls gaining speed as she rushed to her crouched figure. 

His hands were searching her for injuries until she brought his hand to her stomach as another pain rippled through her abdominal muscles. 

She looked at him with wide and panicked eyes. The baby was a month early. 

**you will both be fine** , he promised with a soft smile. He had delivered babies before countless times in his stay at the Melitele’s temple. He had tried there a few years before their paths had crossed again. 

**you sure**? She asked, fingers shaking as a smaller and less painful cramp passed through her.

 **positivly** , he replied, helping her into their home.

The contractions slowly grew in frequency and intensity as the hours bled into one another. Yennefer had offered her help at the wedding, as had Geralt. Elaine was unsure if calling for her father would be wise in a time that relied on emotional support and trust, but as the gruelling hours passed she longed for Geralt to run his fingers through her braids as he had done when she was a child. 

Yennefer was summoned first when, at long last, Elaine’s waters broke. It had not been a sudden gush fo fluids, but a steady trickle that only increased when a contraction has her in its grip. Dara insisted it was normal, but Eliane refused to be sitting in her own steadily leaking fluids as she made her way to the watercloset to clean herself. He remade the bed with fresh sheets and towels from the pile he had gathered in preparation, tossing the dirtied ones aside.

Yennefer arrived shortly after, her travel bag in he grasp and a small bouquet of exquisite fresh flowers. 

“Where is she?” the sorceress asked at first, unsure of where the labouring woman was as Dara finished making the bed.

“Bathroom,” Dara grunted as he gathered his supplies.

Yennefer set to work boiling water and gathering herbs for Dara as he instructed as the waited for Elaine. 

Eventually, Dara rapped on the door with his knuckles. Elaine could have felt the heavy falls of his feet as he approached, but he wanted to give her some warning before bursting into the washroom.

Elaine was sat squarely on the floor, her hands braced on the wooden planks as she rolled her head from side to side, too lost in a contraction to pay attention to her husband. She let out a low groan as the pain released her, her body letting go of the tension. 

She hummed in acknowledgement of his presence but made no attempt to move. 

**worse**? He asked before threading his fingers through her sweaty hair. She grunted as she nodded, the sound getting drawn into a keen as once again she was lost to the pain, her hips sifting as if to get away from the pressure. 

“How is she?” Yennefer asked over his shoulder, her sudden appearance making the elf jump.

“In pain and rather frustrated at how long it is taking, I think,” he replied, helping Elaine to her feet as she silently asked him for help.

They all returned to the main room to find Geralt sitting at one of their dinner chairs, his swords unf up and his usual leather jacket hung neatly on a hook by the door.

“Made it to the party, I see,” Yennefer said with a fond smile as she followed Dara and Elaine from the watercloset.

“Some party,” Geralt chuckled before turning to Elaine. 

His daughter looked pained but happy as she signed a quick hello before her attention was drawn back to the task at hand. Geralt remembered back to the day decades past, the date of Elaine’s birth and the tragedies that had taken place. He was there to make sure that never happened, that nothing would come between his child and her unborn baby. 

Elaine groaned as whatever pain possessed her deepened, her hand blindly reaching out for Dara as she sifted on the bed. 

The elvan man took it without questing, his entire devotion dedicated to his wife and their baby. Nothing could happen. Destiny may be a bitch, but she was not to come between this family this day. Geralt vowed it.

Another hour passed until the sounds in the back of Elaine’s throat changed in pitch and she began to sign frantically to Dara, too fast for Geralt to understand. 

“Shh, shh you’re okay.” the elf said soothingly as he stopped rubbing the pregnant woman’s back to reassure her in sign. **I’ll check, must be sure**.

Geralt fought down a growl as when Dara, after spreading a green gel onto his fingers, began to prepare his daughter. Yennefer, seeing his reaction placed herself in his line of sight, forcing him to look away. 

“He’s checking to see if she’s dilated Geralt,” she said sternly. “Don't get possessive-”

A pained yelp made Geralt push past Yennefer and almost made him pry Dara away from his daughter. They yelp had come from another gush fo fluids that now soaked the bed again. 

Dara insisted it was fine, and that she was prepared enough to start pushing, only causing Elaine’s eyes to widen as she reached out for Geralt. 

Unlike her own mother, Elaine wanted to be standing to push, to use the natural pull of the position to bring her child lower. Once again Geralt found himself with a labouring woman in his arms as she swayed in a strange waltz around the small room. They paused every so often for Elaine to bear down. 

Dara insisted she squat when the baby started crowning. Her back was pressed to Geralt’s front as he supported his daughter through the process. Dara encouraged her and supported to head of the baby as it finally pushed into the world. 

The baby cried huge gulping breathes of air, causing Elaine to cry as well. Geralt easily lifted Elaine and brought her to the bed, now clean and fresh thanks to Yennefer. Her baby, a son, was gently placed on her chest, the umbilical cord still connecting the two.

Dara was crying along with his wife and son, their beautiful boy starting to pink up after a few minutes fo waling and vigorous rubbing from his father. the cord was cut and it was official, the first child of Dara and Elaine was born. 

Geralt found himself tearing up as well at the sight of the happy family; aside from the crying baby, who was more shocked than anything. 

Minutes ticked by as Elaine basked in happiness of finally having her baby in her arms. He was small but no complication was to be seen. He was crying and flailing his tiny arms just as any other baby would be. 

She was about to start feeling him when a jarring and sudden cramp made her gasp, its intensity aking her by surprise. Yennefer took her son from her arms as Dara instructed her on how to push out the afterbirth. 

After a few minutes of painful contractions and Dara’s face becoming more and more worried, he finally felt her deflated stomach, his hands pressing gently as she gasped in pain. 

**another baby** , he signed quickly, returning to the space between Elaine’s legs. 

She had no time to reply before another agonizing contracting made her moan and bear down.

The second, surprise child was born an hour after the first, the second birth taking much longer as Elaine was positively exhausted. 

At long last, a daughter was born. This time much much smaller than her brother. She moved very little and she never cried. 

The stillness in the air made Elaine panic, her breath heaving in gasps as she tried to reach for her new baby. instead, Dara snatched her up and began rubbing her chest and pressing down on her heart with as much pressure as he could without breaking her tiny and underdeveloped ribs. 

Yennefer comforted Elaine’s firstborn son as Geralt comforted his daughter, his callused thumb brushed over her forehead in reassurance as he prayed to every god he knew to help his family.

Eventually, weak cries were heard, as Dara managed to clear her airway and to force her lungs into action. 

On that day two children were born. A boy named Julian, his name now taking on Jaskier’s little swop of a pinky finger; and a girl, Cyrilla, her name signed as a C shape right above Elaine’s heart. 

A proud daughter and a beautiful son.


End file.
